THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 


••//    '  Of    THC 

UNIVERSITY 


THE  CENTURY  CO.,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1889,  1890,  by 
JOSEPH  JEFFERSON. 

&$yjs~' 

(All rights  reserved.) 


THE  DE  VINNE  PRESS. 


PREFACE. 

/IN  Irishman  once  exclaimed  that  no  man  should 
^JL  write  his  autobiography  but  himself.  If  Pat  were 
not  quite  precise  in  his  expression,  still  we  can  arrive  at 
what  he  meant. 

One's  own  history  will  naturally  be  clearer  when  told  by 
one's  self  than  it  could  be  if  passed  through  the  esteem  of 
a  friend  or  the  prejudice  of  a  foe  ;  besides  a  man  can  with 
impunity  chastise  his  own  acts  in  a  manner  that  would 
look  cruel  in  an  enemy,  and  will  naturally  avoid  that 
kind  of  praise  a  friend  might  lavish,  knowing  that  he 
would  only  be  ridiculed  for  vaunting  his  own  merits.  The 
curious  memories  that  rush  upon  one  when  alone  are  fresher 
and  more  vital  than  those  that  are  coldly  drawn  out  by  a 
succession  of  premeditated  interviews.  Thoughts,  too, 
should  be  jotted  down  as  quickly  as  they  come,  and  are  more 
vigorous  if  shaped  by  the  simple  language  that  usually  ac- 
companies them;  labored  alteration  will  sometimes  rob 
them  of  their  value,  as  a  master  stroke  of  the  brush  is 
often  ruined  by  elaboration. 

How  often  the  painter,  after  having  spoiled  his  first 
work  by  some  intellectual  modification,  has  said  to  himself, 
"Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  let  it  alone." 


The  autobiographer,  if  he  be  not  a  literary  man,  first 
hesitates  through  sheer  cowardice  —  /  know  I  did.  He  no 
sooner  dips  his  pen  than  the  thought  at  once  rushes  upon 
him  that  book-making  is  a  trade  like  every  other ;  and  he  is 
aghast  at  his  own  vanity  which  made  him  think  for  a 
moment  that  he  could  at  once  accomplish  a  task  which  men 
of  learning,  taste,  and  experience  would  hesitate  to  under- 
take. The  dread  of  censure,  the  fear  of  ridicule  start  up  like 
specters,  and  he  drops  his  pen  in  dismay.  But  let  him  reflect 
upon  the  real  nature  of  his  task  and  he  will  take  courage, 
for  he  will  realize  that  what  he  has  undertaken  can  be 
best  done  by  himself. 

It  is  the  loose  and  rugged  style  in  which  Tate  Wilkin- 
son's Memoirs  are  written  that  renders  them  so  pleasing ; 
fearlessly  ungrdmmatical  but  extremely  interesting ;  the 
man,  the  whole  man,  and  nothing  but  the  man  from  begin- 
ning to  end.  The  cool  effrontery  and  unruffled  temper  with 
which  he  bears  the  buffets  of  fortune  and  the  abuse  of  his 
contemporaries  prove  him  to  have  been  inclosed  in  the  hide 
of  a  rhinoceros,  and  the  unblushing  vanity  with  which  he 
quotes  Shakspere,  line  after  line,  apparently  under  the 
impression  that  it  is  entirely  his  own,  is  delightful,  because 
it  reveals  the  man.  Of  course  no  other  kind  of  book  could 
be  tolerated  if  it  were  so  crudely  written. 

I  do  not  mean  by  these  remarks  to  bid  for  favor,  or  beg 
for  mercy  towards  my  own  clumsiness  ;  I  neither  ask  it  nor 
expect  it. 

So,  as  I  now  place  my  life  in  the  hands  of  the  public  and 
the  critic,  I  can  exclaim  with  Touchstone,  "An  ill-favored 
thing,  sir,  but  mine  own" 


CONTENTS 


I  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

My  First  Playhouse.  Earliest  Appearances.  My  Friend  Mrs. 
Neal.  First  Appearance  in  New  York.  A  Strange  Playground. .  I 

II  BOYHOOD. 

Westward  Ho !  Chicago  in  1839.  An  Adventure  in  Springfield, 
Illinois.  Hard  Times.  James  Wallack,  Sr.  The  Elder  Booth. 
Macready.  Our  Voyage  on  a  Flatboat 17 

III  BARN-STORMING  AND  MEXICAN  EPISODE. 

Barn-storming  in  Mississippi.  Pudding  Stanley.  In  Mexico. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  W.  Wallack,  Jr.  John  E.  Owens 51 

IV  EARLY  DAYS  IN  PHILADELPHIA  AND  NEW  YORK. 

Crossing  the  Alleghanies.    My  Friend  the  Scene  Painter.    William 

E.  Burton.     An  Effort  in  Greek  Tragedy.     Charles  Burke 83 

V  STOCK,  STAR,  AND  STAGE  MANAGEMENT. 

From  Stock  to  Star.  From  Star  to  Stock.  The  Elder  Booth  as  Sir 
Giles  Overreach.  The  Southern  Theatrical  Circuit.  A  Wandering 
Star.  The  Balcony  Scene.  Julia  Dean.  Legitimate  Comedy. 
James  E.  Murdoch.  Henry  Placide.  A  Play  an  Animated 
Picture.  Edwin  Forrest HI 

VI  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE. 

From  London  to  Paris.  An  Early  Comedy.  In  the  Second-hand 
Shops.  Return  to  America 171 

VII  WITH  LAURA  KEENE. 

"  The  Heir-at-Law."    Dramatic  Action.    "Our  American  Cousin." 

A  Theatrical  Quarrel.     Changes  in  Old  Plays.     "  The  Duchess." . .   183 


x  CONTENTS 

PAGE. 

VIII  AT  THE  WINTER  GARDEN;  AND  "  RIP  VAN  WINKLE." 

The  Winter  Garden.  Caleb  Plummer.  I  Receive  Good  Advice. 
"The  Octoroon."  Some  Remarks  on  Guying.  The  Comedian's 
Disadvantage.  The  First  Successful  Star  Comedian.  How  I  Came 
to  Play  "  Rip  Van  Winkle. "  Failure  in  San  Francisco.  Harry  Perry.  207 

IX  IN  AUSTRALIA,  VAN  DIEMEN'S  LAND,  AND  NEW  ZEALAND. 
From  California  to  Australia.     Sydney.    Melbourne.     The  Skele- 
ton Dance.     The  Shepherd.    An  Australian  Tragedy.     A  Terrible 
Audience.     The  Keans.     A  Chinese  Theater 231 

X  IN  SOUTH  AMERICA. 

Callao.  Lima.  A  Midnight  Funeral.  A  Beggar  on  Horseback. 
The  Theater  in  Callao.  A  Religious  Tableau.  A  Tropical  City. 
Leaving  South  America.  An  Incident  in  Panama 275 

XI  IN  LONDON. 

The  New  "  Rip  Van  Winkle. "  English  Relatives.  John  Brougham. 
Tom  Robertson.  Artemus  Ward 302 

XII  EAST  AND  WEST. 

Edwin  Adams.  The  Combination  System.  George  D.  Prentice. 
Tom  Glessing  again.  George  Holland.  "The  Little  Church 
Around  the  Corner."  Charles  Fechter 322 

XIII  SCENES  AND  THOUGHTS  ABROAD. 

Once  More  in  Paris.  French  Acting.  French  and  English  Paint- 
ers. English  Acquaintances.  The  Reverend  Joseph  Jefferson. 
Gainsborough.  In  Scotland.  In  Ireland  . . .' 346 

XIV  AT  HOME  AGAIN. 

Booth's  Theater.  Talks  with  Charles  Mathews  on  Acting.  John 
B.  Rice.  "  The  Rivals."  William  Warren 381 

XV  SOME  OLD  FRIENDS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barney  Williams.  John  Drew.  Charlotte  Cush- 
man.  Mrs.  Drake.  F.  S.  Chanfrau.  John  T.  Raymond.  John 
McCullough.  The  Lester  Wallack  Benefit.  Actors  of  To-day  and 
Yesterday 4IQ 

XVI  REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  ART  OF  ACTING. 

The  Dramatic  Instinct.  Spontaneity  and  Preparation.  Rehearsals. 
A  Warm  Heart  and  a  Cool  Head.  Taking  Time.  Advice  to 
Beginners.  Remarks  suggested  by  "  Rip  Van  Winkle."  Realism 
and  Idealism.  Dramatic  Writing 425 

XVII  IN  LOUISIANA. 

The  "  Pirate  of  the  Gulf."  Pierre  Landry  and  his  Wife.  Under 
the  Live-Oaks.  Conclusion 464 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


OPPOSITE   PAGE. 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON.     FRONTISPIECE 

Engraved  by  G.  Kruell,  from  a  photograph  by  Pach  Brothers. 
TYRONE  POWER 4 

After  the  steel  plate  engraved  by  C.  Turner,  from  the  painting  by 

John  Simpson.     Published  by  W.  Kenneth. 

CHARLES  BURKE 8 

From  a  painting  in  possession  of  the  author. 
OLD  JEWISH  BURYING-GROUND,  PEARL  STREET,  NEAR  CHATHAM, 

NEW  YORK  CITY 16 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  (GRANDFATHER  OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON)  IN  THE 

CHARACTER  OF  "  SOLUS,"  IN  THE  COMEDY  "  EVERY  ONE  HAS 

His  FAULTS." 22 

From  the  painting  by  Neagle. 
JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  (FATHER  OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON) 36 

From  a  painting,  artist  unknown. 
PORTRAIT  OF  JAMES  WALLACK 40 

From  the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 
MACREADY  AS  "  WILLIAM  TELL." 44 

After  the  painting  by  Henry  Inman,  owned  by  Joseph  Jefterson. 
JAMES  W.  WALLACK,  JR 72 

From  a  photograph  by  Gurney. 
MRS.  JAMES  W.  WALLACK,  JR 76 

From  a  photograph  by  Fredericks. 
JOHN  E.  OWENS ...      80 

From  a  photograph  by  Bachrach. 

JOHN  E.  OWENS  AS  "  SOLON  SHINGLE." 82 

WILLIAM  E.  BURTON  AS  "  DOCTOR  OLLAPOD." 96 

From  the  painting  by  Inman,  after  an  engraving  by  Sartain. 


xii  ILLUSTRATIONS 

OPPOSITE    PAGE. 

WILLIAM  E.  BURTON  AS  "  CAPTAIN  CUTTLE." 100 

From  a  daguerreotype  by  Meade  Brothers,  after  a  lithograph  by 
Sarony  &  Major. 

MR.  C.  BURKE,  AMERICAN  COMEDIAN.   IN  COMEDY,  DRAMA,  FARCE, 

AND  BURLESQUE 108 

From  a  lithograph  by  J.  L.  Magee. 

CORNELIA     JEFFERSON     (MOTHER    OF    JOSEPH    JEFFERSON)    AS 

"JESSICA." Il8 

After  the  painting  by  Neagle. 

JUNIUS  BRUTUS  BOOTH  AS  "  RICHARD  THE  THIRD." 128 

From  a  copperplate  engraving,  after  a  drawing  by  C.  Shoosmith. 
From  the  collection  of  Edwin  Booth. 

THE  SAVANNAH  THEATER  PREVIOUS  TO  1884 132 

From  a  photograph  lent  by  J.  D.  Johnson. 
SIR  WILLIAM  DON 136 

MRS.  J.  H.  ALLEN 140 

Engraved  by  Charles  State,  from  a  photograph  by  Fredericks. 
From  the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 

JULIA  DEAN 146 

After  a  photograph  by  Bradley  &  Rulofson. 

HENRY  PLACIDE 148 

From  a  photograph  by  Fredericks. 
CHESTNUT  STREET  THEATER,  PHILADELPHIA 150 

From  a  print  published  by  William  Birch  in  1823. 
JAMES  E.  MURDOCH 152 

EDWIN  FORREST  ABOUT  1835 156 

Drawn  by  S.  Lawrence.  Lithographed  by  E.  Morton. 

EDWIN  FORREST 160 

Photographed  by  Gutekunst.  Engraved  by  T.  Johnson. 

EDWIN  FORREST  AS  "  METAMORA." 164 

Photographed  by  Brady.  Engraved  by  T.  Johnson. 

EDWIN  FORREST  AS  "  KING  LEAR." 168 

Photographed  by  Brady.     Engraved  by  T.  Johnson. 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  DR.  PANGLOSS."    "  PUT  ALL  THE  HONORABLE 
MR.   DOWLAS'S  CLOTHES  AND  LINEN  INTO  His  FATHER'S 

CHARIOT.  "  184 

Engraved  by  Charles  State.     Photographed  by  Falk. 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  " DR.  PANGLOSS,  LL.  D.,  A.  S.  S.,"  IN  "THE 
HEIR-AT-LAW."    "  DOCTOR    PANGLOSS,   THE    PHILOSOPHER, 

TEACH  DANCING  ! " 188 

Engraved  by  R.  G.  Tietze.     Photographed  by  Falk. 

LAURA  KEENE 192 

Drawn  from  a  lithograph  lent  by  Thomas  J.  McKee. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xiii 

OPPOSITE   PAGE. 

"WAIT,  I  AIN'T  THROUGH  YET."    JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  ASA 

TRENCHARD,"  IN  "OUR  AMERICAN  COUSIN." 196 

From  a  photograph  taken  in  1858  by  Meade  Brothers. 
E.    A.     SOTHERN    AS    "  LORD    DUNDREARY,"    IN    "  OUR    AMERICAN 

COUSIN." 200 

From  a  photograph  by  Sarony. 

W.  R.  BLAKE 204 

From  an  etching  by  H.  B.  Hall,  lent  by  Thomas  J.  McKee. 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  CALEB  PLUMMER,"  IN  "THE  CRICKET  ON 

THE  HEARTH." 208 

Drawn  from  a  photograph  by  Morrison,  Chicago. 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  NEWMAN  NOGGS,"  IN  "  NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY.  "    212 
Engraved  by  R.  G.  Tietze.    From  a  photograph  formerly  owned  by 
John  Brougham,  lent  by  Peter  Gilsey. 

"  TAKE  CARE,  JACOB,  DON'T  RILE  ME  ! "    JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS 

"  SALEM  SCUDDER,"  IN  "  THE  OCTOROON." 216 

Engraved  by  H.  Davidson.     Photographed  by  Falk. 

TYRONE  POWER  AS  "  CORPORAL  O'CONOR.".   220 

From  the  lithograph  by  Gooding  &  Gulliford,  after  the  portrait  by 
Wageman. 

BARNEY  WILLIAMS 224 

From  a  photograph  by  Bogardus. 
HARRY  A.  PERRY 230 

From  a  print  in  the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 

MR.  CHARLES  KEAN  AS  "  KING  JOHN." 264 

Engraved  by  E.  Clement. 
MRS.  CHARLES  KEAN  AS  "  HERMIONE." 268 

Engraved  by  J.  H.  E.  Whitney. 

PAUL  BEDFORD 304 

From  a  photograph  by  Walker  &  Sons. 

BENJAMIN  WEBSTER 308 

From  a  photograph  by  Elliott  &  Fry. 

JOHN  BROUGHAM  AS  THE  "O'GRADY,"  IN  "ARRAH  NA  POGUE  "  ..     312 
From  a  photograph  by  Chancellor,  Dublin.     From  the  collection  of 
Thomas  J.  McKee. 

T.  W.  ROBERTSON 316 

From  a  photograph  by  Walker  &  Sons. 

ARTEMUS  WARD 320 

From  a  photograph  by  Walker  &  Sons. 

EDWIN  ADAMS 324 

From  a  photograph  by  Gurney  in  the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  Mc- 
Kee. 

GEORGE  HOLLAND 33^ 

From  the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 


xiv  ILLUS  TRA  TIONS 

OPPOSITE  PAGE. 

CHARLES  FECHTER 340 

From  a  photograph  by  Heath  &  Bean,  of  the  lithograph  by  D'Al- 
maine  &  Co. 

THE  REVEREND  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 364 

From  a  photograph  by  Baker. 

AGNES  ROBERTSON 368 

Engraved  by  R.  G.  Tietze,  from  a  photograph  by  Fredericks.    From 
the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 

BOOTH'S  THEATER,  TWENTY-THIRD  STREET  AND  SIXTH  AVENUE, 

NEW  YORK 380 

JOHN  GILBERT  AS  "  SIR  PETER  TEAZLE." 384 

C.  J.  MATHEWS 388 

Engraved  by  R.  G.  Tietze,  from  a  photograph  by  Mayall. 

CHARLES  J.  MATHEWS  AS  "TiM,"  IN  "OLD  AND  YOUNG  STAGER."  392 
From  a  sketch  by  R.  J.  Lane,  published  by  J.  Dickinson. 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  BOB  ACRES  " 396 

Drawn  by  Otto  H.  Bacher,  from  a  photograph  by  Sarony. 

JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  BOB  ACRES  " 400 

Engraved  by  F.  S.  King,  from  a  photograph  by  Sarony. 

WILLIAM  WARREN  AS  "  HERR  WEIGEL,"  IN  "  MY  SON  " 404 

Engraved  by  E.  H.  Delorme,  from  a  photograph  by  C.  F.  Conly. 

WILLIAM  WARREN  AS  "JEFFERSON  SCATTERING  BATKINS  " 408 

Engraved  by  H.  Velten,  from  a  photograph  by  Notman. 

JOHN  DREW  AS  "  HANDY  ANDY." 412 

From  a  photograph. 
MRS.  A.  DRAKE  416 

From  miniature  in   the   possession  of  her  granddaughter,    Mrs. 

Blanche  Ford. 
JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE 418 

From  a  daguerreotype. 
F.  S.  CHANFRAU 420 

Engraved  by  W.  J.  Hirschman,  after  a  colored  lithograph  in  the 

collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 
LESTER  WALLACK 422 

Engraved  by  D.  Nichols,  from  a  photograph  by  Fredericks  taken  in 
1856.    From  the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 

MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS 424 

From  a  photograph  by  Mora. 
JOHN  DREW  AS  "  THE  IRISH  EMIGRANT." 428 

Drawn  by  Otto  H.  Bacher,  from  a  photograph. 

JOHN  T.  RAYMOND  AS  "  COL.  SELLERS  "  432 

Engraved  by  A.  H.  Hutchins,  from  a  photograph  by  Sarony. 

JOHN  McCuLLOucH  AS  "  VIRGINIUS  " 436 

Engraved  by  T.  Johnson,  from  a  photograph  by  Conly. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xv 

OPPOSITE  PAGE. 
J.    B.    BUCKSTONE 440 

From  a  photograph  by  Walker  &  Sons. 
SARAH  STEVENS 444 

Engraved  by  A.  H.  Hutchins,  from  a  photograph  by  Fredericks. 

From  the  collection  of  Thomas  J.  McKee. 

CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN 448 

From  a  photograph  by  Sarony. 
"  I  BELIEVE  I  VAS  !  "    JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  RIP  VAN  WINKLE."    452 

Engraved  by  H.  Davidson.     Photographed  by  Sarony. 
"  VERE  is  DAT  VAT  You  READ  ?  "   JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "  RIP  VAN 

WINKLE." 456 

Engraved  by  J.  H.  E.  Whitney.     Photographed  by  Sarony. 
"  Is  DAT  THE  VILLAGE  OF  FALLING  VATER."    JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS 

"  RIP  VAN  WINKLE." 460 

Engraved  by  T.  Johnson.     Photographed  by  Walker  &  Sons. 
PIERRE  LANDRY  AND  His  WIFE 468 

Engraved  by  Henry  Marsh,  from  a  photograph. 
A  MEMORY  OF  LOUISIANA 472 

Monotype  by  Joseph  Jefferson.     Photo-engraved  reproduction  of  the 

wood-engraving  by  J.  H.  E.  Whitney. 


THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF 
JOSEPH   JEFFERSON   :  • , 


CHAPTER  I 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  CHILDHOOD 

My  First  Playhouse — Earliest  Appearances — My 
Friend  Mrs.  Neal — First  Appearance  in  New 
York — A  Strange  Playground 

I  MAY  almost  say  that  I  was  born  in  a  theater. 
At  all  events,  my  earliest  recollections  are  en- 
tirely connected  with  one;  it  was  a  rickety 
ojd  fr^me  building  with  a  broad  gable,  facing  on  a 
wide  avenue,  and  situated  in  The  city  of  Washing- 
ton. The  door  from  our  back  entry  opened  upon  the 
stage,  and  as  a  toddling  little  chap  in  a  short  frock 
I  was  allowed  full  run  of  the  place.  So  "behind 
the  scenes  "  was  nvy_  firsl  playhouse.  And  what  a 
playhouse  it  was,  filled  with  all  sorts  of  material 
for  the  exercise  of  my  youthful  imagination.  At 
the  back  was  the  Bay  of  Naples,  with  its  conven- 
tional blue  sky  just  faintly  clouded  with  the  distant 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

smoke  of  slumbering  Vesuvius.  Upon  one  side 
stood  long  and  stately  rows  of  Corinthian  columns, 
a  triumphal  arch,  and  next  to  that  a  Roman  palace. 
These  marvels  of  ancient  architecture  were  all  lean- 
ing up  against  the  wall,  not  only  in  an  uncomforta- 
ble position,  but  at  a  dangerous  angle,  looking  as 
though  they  had  been  toppled  over  during  the  last 
dVy§  {*£  Pompeii.  Upon  the  other  side,  heaped  in  a 
.compact  .mass,  were  many  scenes  of  various  coun- 
trieS— there  a  five-storied  brownstone-front  with 
modern  improvements,  and  here  a  tiny  thatched 
cottage  of  the  eighteenth  century,  with  a  lovely  lit- 
tle door  in  it  just  large  enough  for  me  to  go  in  and 
out  of,  slamming  it  after  me  and  pretending  it  was 
mine.  Then  there  was  that  dear  little  white  paling 
fence,  exactly  two  feet  high :  no  legitimate  theater 
of  the  old  school  could  possibly  be  complete  with- 
out this  curiosity,  and  nobody  ever  saw  such  a  thing 
anywhere  else.  Then  came  the  throne-steps,  with 
two  Gothic  arm-chairs  set  thereon  for  the  king  and 
queen,  and  in  front  of  these  the  old  familiar  green 
bank  from  which  stray  babies  are  usually  stolen 
when  left  there  by  affectionate  but  careless  mothers. 
Upon  the  top  of  this  were  two  flat  swans  hitched  in 
double  harness  to  a  shell  for  traveling  fairy  queens. 
A  little  farther  down  there  stood  a  low  and  dismal 
vault  having  a  square,  dark  opening  with  some 
mysterious  letters  painted  over  it,  setting  forth,  as 
I  learned  in  after  years,  that  it  was  the  private 
"Tomb  of  the  Capulets."  Close  to  this  was  an- 
other piece  of  real  estate  belonging  to  the  same 
family  and  known  as  "  Juliet's  balcony."  In  a  dark 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  3 

corner  stood  a  robbers'  cave  with  an  opening 
through  which  old  Ali  Baba  used  to  lug  the  bags 
of  gold  he  had  stolen  from  the  Forty  Thieves. 
Through  the  narrow  and  secluded  pathways  of 
"  behind  the  scenes  "  I  have  often  wandered  out 
upon  the  open  stage  and  wondered  at  this  grove  of 
wings  and  flats,  and  I  could  see  that  many  ropes 
were  hanging  from  above  to  which  were  fastened 
boats  and  baskets,  tubs  and  chandeliers,  and  those 
sure  tokens  of  bad  weather,  the  thunder-drum  and 
rain-box. 

/  Such  were  the  objects  that  my  childish  eyes 
were  wont  to  look  upon,  and  in  this  huge  and 
dusty  toy-shop,  made  for  children  of  a  larger 
growth,  I  got  my  first  experience.  I  had  seen  many 
rehearsals,  and  sometimes  enjoyed  a  peep  at  the 
play,  having  been  taken  on  "in  arms"  as  a  property 
child  in  groups  of  happy  peasantry.  Naturally, 
therefore,  I  was  stage-struck  at  an  early  age ;  and 
as  I  had  a  theater  stocked  with  scenery  and  proper- 
ties, I  could  indulge  my  passion  at  small  expense, 
especially  as  my  stock  company  were  volunteers 
consisting  of  two  little  boys  and  their  sister,  who 
used  to  play  with  me  on  Saturdays.  This  was 
before  the  star  system  had  set  in,  and  at  a  period 
when  cpj«teiaa5ftas  were  unknown.  [ 

Of  course  I  was  stage-manager  by  the  right  of 
possession,  and  had  to  compile  all  of  the  plays. 
The  plots  were  very  simple  and  made  to  conform 
with  what  set  pieces  we  could  get  at,  or  what  prop- 
erties we  could  secure  and  hide  during  the  ab- 
sence of  the  property  man.  If  the  set  cottage 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was  handy  I  would  come  out  of  the  door  as  an  old 
man  (the  age  represented  by  a  spinal  affection) 
with  a  daughter  and  a  market-basket:  old  man 
cross,  daughter  rebellious ;  old  man  locks  daughter 
in  cottage,  goes  off  to  market  shaking  his  fist  (spine 
still  weak).  The  favored  lover  enters,  claps  his 
hands  three  times ;  daughter  appears  at  window, 
kisses  her  hand ;  old  man  coughs  outside,  favored 
lover  conceals  himself;  enter  old  man  with  market- 
basket  full  of  gilded  pasteboard  goblets,  accom- 
panied by  unfavored  lover ;  they  sit  down  and  drink 
wine  out  of  goblets  till  overcome.  Favored  lover 
steals  key  from  old  man's  pocket,  releases  rebel- 
lious daughter ;  the  sleepers  awaken,  general  pur- 
suit ;  favored  lover  and  rebellious  daughter  escape 
over  bridge,  old  man  and  unfavored  lover  fall  into 
the  water.  Curtain. 

Then  there  were  the  private  boxes  to  play  hide- 
and-seek  in,  with  mysterious  nooks  and  ample  cur- 
tains to  creep  into,  and  such  chances  to  kiss  the 
little  girl  in  the  dark.  I  am  quite  convinced  that 
there  is  no  such  playground  as  a  deserted  theater 
in  the  daytime. 

In  the  greenroom  there  was  a  noble  mirror.  I 
loved  to  stand  in  front  of  it  and  act.  But  I  was 
not  alone  in  this.  Many  of  the  great  players,  long 
since  passed  away,  have  stood  before  this  stately 
glass ;  and  often  in  the  evening,  when  clad  in  my 
night-gown,  I  have  escaped  from  the  nurse,  and 
stealing  on  tip-toe  to  the  greenroom  door  have 
peeped  in  and  beheld  these  magnates  with  dignified 
satisfaction  surveying  themselves  in  their  kingly 


TYRONE     POWER. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  5 

robes :  now  a  small  man  with  piercing  steel-gray 
eye,  possibly  the  elder  Booth;  then  a  tall,  gaunt 
figure,  weird  and  majestic,  Macready  most  likely ; 
at  another  time  a  young  and  beautiful  queen  in 
white  satin  —  this  must  have  been  Fanny  Kemble; 
again  a  tall  and  graceful  figure  in  a  scarlet  mili- 
tary coat  posing  with  an  extravagant  swagger  and 
evidently  admiring  himself — undoubtedly  Tyrone 
Power,  the  great  Irish  comedian. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  being  the  son  of  the 
manager,  and  almost  living  in  the  theater,  I  was 
always  pressed  into  the  dramatic  service  whenever 
a  small  child  was  wanted.  Even  before  I  can  re- 
member I  was  taken  on  to  do  duty  in  long  clothes ; 
in  fact,  such  was  the  histrionic  ambition  of  my 
mother  that  I  believe  if  Tilly  Slow  boy  had  existed 
in  those  days  I  should  have  been  confided  to  her 
tender  mercies  at  the  risk  of  a  collision  between 
my  head  and  the  tea-kettle. 

The  first  dim  recollection  I  have  of  a  public  ap- 
pearance conies  before  me  as  a  startled  child  in  a 
white  tunic  beautifully  striped  with  gold  bands,  and 
in  the  grasp  and  on  the  shoulders  of  an  infuriated 
tragedian  crossing  a  shaky  bridge  amid  the  deafen- 
ing report  of  guns  and  pistols  and  in  a  blaze  of 
fire  and  smoke.  To  me  the  situation  seemed  peril- 
ous, and  in  order  to  render  my  position  more 
secure  I  seized  Rolla  by  the  hair  of  his  head.  "  Let 
go,"  he  cried ;  but  I  was  obeying  the  first  law  of 
nature,  not  Rolla,  so  I  tightened  my  grasp  upon  his 
tragic  top-knot.  The  battle  was  short  but  decisive, 
for  in  the  next  moment  I  had  pulled  off  his  feather- 


6  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

duster  head-dress,  wig  and  all,  thereby  unintention- 
ally scalping  the  enemy ;  and,  as  he  was  past  the 
prime  of  life,  the  noble  Peruvian  stood  bald-headed 
in  the  middle  of  the  bridge  before  an  admiring 
audience.  This  story  has  the  flavor  of  an  old  anec- 
dote, but  I  am  credibly  informed  that  I  was  the 
original  scalper. 

About  this  time  —  I  was  three  years  old — there 
dawned  upon  the  public  a  new  entertainment  in 
the  shape  of  the  "  Living  Statues,"  by  a  Mr. 
Fletcher.  I  was  much  taken  with  these  novel 
tableaux,  and  became  so  statue-struck  that  I  could 
do  nothing  but  strike  attitudes,  now  posing  before 
the  greenroom  glass  as  "  Ajax  Defying  the  Light- 
ning," or  falling  down  in  dark  corners  as  the  "  Dying 
Gladiator."  These  postures  appear  to  have  been 
so  successful  with  the  family  that  they  were,  as 
usual,  tried  upon  the  public.  I  am  in  the  dark  as 
to  whether  this  entertainment  was  the  "  talk  of  the 
town  "  or  not,  but  I  fancy  not :  an  attenuated  child 
representing  Hercules  struggling  with  a  lion  could 
scarcely  excite  terror ;  so  I  presume  I  did  no  harm 
if  I  did  no  good. 

To  go  from  white  to  black,  "Jim  Crow,"  in  the 
person  of  T.  D.  Rice,  now  burst  upon  the  town. 
The  legitimate  drama  has  at  all  times  been  subject 
to  startling  innovations,  and  surely  here  was  a 
great  blow.  The  success  of  this  the  first  and  cer- 
tainly the  best  knight  of  the  burnt  cork  was  quite 
marvelous;  he  drew  more  money  than  any  star 
of  the  season.  It  is  reported  that  his  first  hit  in 
Washington  was  repeated  in  all  the  great  cities 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  1 

of  the  country,  and  his  advent  in  Europe  even  sur- 
passed his  career  here.  In  London  he  acted  in  two 
theaters  nightly,  the  same  people  in  many  instances 
following  him  from  one  theater  to  the  other. 

Of  course  this  fantastic  figure  had  a  great  in- 
fluence upon  me,  and  I  danced  Jim  Crow  from  the 
garret  to  the  cellar.  The  comedian  saw  my  imita- 
tion of  him,  and  insisted  that  I  should  appear  for 
his  benefit ;  so  on  that  occasion  I  was  duly  blacked 
up  and  dressed  as  a  complete  miniature  likeness  of 
the  original.  He  put  me  in  a  bag,  which  almost 
smothered  me,  and  carried  me  upon  the  stage  on 
his  shoulders.  No  word  of  this  proceeding  had 
been  mentioned  in  the  bills,  so  that,  figuratively 
speaking,  the  public  were  as  much  in  the  dark  as 
I  was.  After  dancing  and  singing  the  first  stanza 
he  began  the  second,  the  following  being  the  two 
lines  which  introduced  me : 

O  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  I  'd  have  you  for  to  know 
That  I  've  got  a  little  darky  here  that  jumps  Jim  Crow ; 

and  turning  the  bag  upside  down  he  emptied  me 
out  head  first  before  the  eyes  of  the  astonished 
audience.  The  picture  must  have  been  a  curious 
one  ;  it  is  as  vividly  before  me  now  as  any  recol- 
lection of  my  past  life. 

Rice  was  considerably  over  six  feet  high,  I  was 
but  four  years  old,  and  as  we  stood  there,  dressed 
exactly  alike,  the  audience  roared  with  laughter. 
Rice  and  I  now  sang  alternate  stanzas  and  the 
excitement  increased ;  showers  of  pennies,  six- 
pences, and  shillings  were  tossed  from  the  pit  and 


8  .    THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

thrown  from  the  galleries  upon  the  stage.  I  took 
no  notice  of  this,  but  suddenly  the  clear,  ringing 
sound  of  a  dollar  caught  my  ear,  and  as  the  bright 
coin  was  rolling  from  the  stage  into  the  orchestra 
I  darted  forward  and  secured  the  prize.  Holding 
it  triumphantly  between  my  finger  and  thumb  I 
grinned  at  the  leader  of  the  orchestra  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  No,  you  don't."  This  not  only  brought 
down  the  house,  but  many  half-dollars  and  dollars 
besides.  At  the  fall  of  the  curtain  twenty-four 
dollars  were  picked  up  and  given  into  my  de- 
lighted hands.  For  years  afterwards  I  was  made 
to  understand  that  this  money  was  placed  in  bank 
to  my  credit,  and  I  fear  that  I  often  borrowed  small 
sums  on  the  strength  of  my  prospective  wealth. 
Our  family  about  this  time  consisted  of  father  and 
mother,  my  half-brother,  Charles  Burke,  and  my- 
self; but  there  was  one  other  member  of  the  house- 
hold who  deserves  special  mention.  She  was  not 
one  of  the  family,  certainly,  but  the  group  would 
be  very  incomplete  without  her.  Her  name  was 
Mary.  She  was  that  strange  kind  of  woman  who, 
while  housekeeper,  nurse,  friend,  and  attendant, 
will  never  take  any  wages  (which  I  think  must 
have  been  rather  fortunate  in  this  case),  and  whom 
everybody  depends  upon.  We  would  not  have 
parted  with  her  for  all  the  world,  and  could  not  have 
driven  her  away  if  we  had  tried — a  faithful,  loving, 
truthful  friend,  with  no  ambition  or  thought  for  her- 
self, living  only  for  us,  and  totally  unconscious  of 
her  own  existence.  I  have  no  doubt  that  there  is 
some  such  being  attached  to  many  a  family,  but  I 


CHARLES    BURKE. 


Of    THE 

UNIVERSITY 

Of 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  9 

know  that  our  family  was  just  that  queer  sort  of 
party  that  could  not  have  done  without  one.  This 
lady  (for  she  was  a  lady)  was  my  foster-mother  — 
dear  Mary! — always  taking  my  faults  on  herself, 
finding  excuses  for  my  badness,  and  spoiling  me, 
of  course. 

A  year  or  two  rolled  by  and  I  find  we  were  in 
Baltimore,  where  my  sister  was  born.  She  divided 
the  honors  with  me  then,  and  I  was,  in  consequence 
of  this  new  arrival,  not  made  quite  so  much  of.  I 
remember  as  a  boy  I  was  always  being  injured, — 
at  least,  according  to  my  account, —  so  that  people 
were  rather  suspicious  of  me ;  and  I  find  this  theory 
holds  good  as  we  grow  older :  that  whenever  a  man 
comes  to  us  with  a  tale  of  his  injuries  we  look  on  him 
with  distrust,  and  as  he  recounts  the  details  of  his 
persecution  the  question  revolves  itself  in  our  minds, 
"  I  wonder  what  rascality  this  fellow  has  been  up 
to."  The  world  has  no  time  to  injure  any  one ; 
these  unfortunate  people  injure  themselves,  and  so 
turn  into  some  other  channel  the  current  of  happi- 
ness that  might  have  flowed  to  them. 

But  to  return  to  my  early  persecutions.  A  neigh- 
bor, whose  weak  points  I  had  discovered,  bestowed 
on  me  one  day  a  smooth  sixpence.  I  showed  it  to  my 
brother  Charlie,  who,  looking  at  it  with  some  dispar- 
agement, said  that  in  its  present  obliterated  state  it 
would  pass  for  only  about  four  cents,  but  that  if  I 
would  bury  it  for  an  hour  the  original  figures  would 
show  themselves  and  it  would  pass  for  its  full  value  ; 
or,  what  would  be  better,  let  it  remain  in  the  ground 
for  a  day  and  it  would  grow  to  a  shilling.  This 


10  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

announcement  struck  me  with  wonder  and  delight, 
so  off  we  started  for  the  garden  to  plant  this  smooth 
sixpence.  After  making  the  interment  and  care- 
fully marking  it  with  a  small  headstone  we  de- 
parted. I  went  back  to  the  house  and  whispered 
the  whole  affair  into  the  ears  of  Mary  ;  she  de- 
nounced the  operation  as  a  fraud,  and  bid  me  hurry 
and  get  my  sixpence  if  I  ever  expected  to  see  it 
again.  I  started  off  at  a  full  run  for  the  garden. 
The  headstone  was  there,  but  the  sixpence  had 
gone.  The  body-snatcher  had  accomplished  his 
cruel  work.  Throwing  myself  on  my  back  and  kick- 
ing my  heels  in  the  air,  I  soon  made  the  neighbor- 
hood ring  with  my  frantic  yells.  The  family  rushed 
out,  and  I  detailed  to  them  the  dark  plot  of  my  guilty 
brother.  I  determined  now  that  nothing  short  of  a 
shilling  should  calm  my  feelings,  and  I  yelled  till 
I  got  it. 

I  am  not  quite  sure  as  to  dates,  and  many  inci- 
dents come  up  before  me  in  a  confused  form,  while 
a  number  are  traditional ;  but  there  are  certain  facts 
connected  with  my  early  life  about  which  there  can 
be  no  mistake,  and  it  is  quite  clear  that  I  was  what 
is  understood  to  be  a  bad  boy  and  hard  to  manage. 
If  I  heard  an  oath  I  cherished  it  as  a  newly  found 
treasure,  and  would  practice  it  in  private.  All  this 
was  no  fault  of  my  bringing  up,  for  both  father  and 
mother  were  very  particular  and  exacting  in  the 
conduct  of  home.  I  was  made  to  say  my  prayers 
every  night,  a  good  example  was  always  set  before 
me,  and  sound  moral  principles  were  continually 
instilled  into  my  youthful  mind.  The  prayers  I  used 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  11 

to  rattle  off —  usually  thinking  of  something  else 
while  I  was  saying  them  —  as  quickly  as  religious 
decorum  and  my  mother  would  permit,  and  the 
sound  moral  principles  and  good  examples  seemed 
to  have  the  effect  of  making  me  the  champion  exe- 
cutioner of  all  the  stray  cats  in  our  neighborhood. 
The  banging  of  a  tin  kettle  tied  to  the  tail  of  an 
unlucky  dog  was  music  to  my  childish  ears ;  and 
much  as  I  love  animals  now,  in  the  innocence  of 
childhood  I  pursued  them  with  such  energy  that 
had  Mr.  Bergh  held  his  commission  in  those  days 
I  should  have  been  seen  oftener  in  the  police  court 
than  at  Sunday-school. 

My  mother  had  a  friend  in  Philadelphia,  a  Mrs. 
Neal,  who  kept  a  bookstore  in  Sixth  street,  near 
Chestnut;  she  was  the  mother  of  Joe  Neal,  the 
young  author  of  the  "  Charcoal  Sketches."  I  was 
a  great  favorite  with  her.  She  always  wore  a  black 
dress  with  a  white  cap ;  the  cap  had  a  little  fluted 
frill  around  it,  very  prim,  and  very  much  starched. 
She  was  a  dear  old  lady  with  a  sweet  smile  and 
large,  wide,  blue  eyes ;  just  the  credulous  and  con- 
fiding sort  of  person  that  a  boy  of  seven  could  wind 
around  his  little  finger. 

My  imagination  was  wonderfully  fertile :  I  could 
at  the  shortest  notice  get  up  a  harrowing  tale  of 
woe  that  would  make  the  stiff  frills  on  her  cap 
fairly  tremble  with  benevolent  agitation.  Now  it 
so  happened  about  this  time  that  I  was  in  a  state  of 
insolvency,  being  heavily  in  debt  at  the  candy-store, 
and  sorely  pressed  by  an  exacting  peanut-man  at 
the  corner.  If  I  was  short  of  a  penny  or  two, — 


12  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


usually  the  case  with  me,  —  I  would  dishevel  my 
hair,  rush  through  the  store  into  the  back  room, 
and,  sinking  in  an  exhausted  condition  into  the  little 
chair  by  the  fireplace,  call  for  a  glass  of  water.  The 
startled  old  lady  would  jump  up  crying,  "  What  's 
the  matter,  Joe?"  "Don't  ask  me  —  water,  wa- 
ter !  "  "  Yes,  in  a  moment,  my  dear  boy."  Then, 
in  a  feeble  voice,  "Put  some  raspberry  syrup  in  it, 
please,  Mrs.  Neal  ?  "  "Yes,  my  darling."  And 
now  having  been  refreshed  with  this  stimulant,  I 
would  in  a  tremulous  voice,  —  a  little  overacted, 
perhaps,  —  relate  some  dire  calamity  I  had  just 
witnessed,  giving  the  full  particulars  ;  in  fact,  the 
greater  the  fabrication  the  more  minute  I  was  as  to 
the  details.  I  would  perhaps  tell  her  that  I  had 
just  seen  a  lovely  little  girl  with  blue  eyes  and 
golden  hair  run  over  by  fire-engine  No.  6  ;  her 
head,  severed  from  her  body,  had  rolled  from  the 
middle  of  the  street  into  the  gutter,  and  lay  smiling 
at  my  feet  ;  or  perhaps  I  had  pulled  the  little  girl 
from  under  the  wheels  just  previous  to  decapitation 
and  saved  her  life  —  refusing  a  large  reward  from 
her  father.  The  shock  had  been  so  great  that 
nothing  short  of  an  immediate  supply  of  pepper- 
mint drops  would  ever  obliterate  it  from  my  mind  — 
and  where  was  I  to  get  them  ?  I  was  in  disgrace 
at  the  candy-store  and  had  no  money.  "  My  dear 
child,"  the  old  soul  would  say,  "  there  is  a  penny  for 
you."  "Oh,  no,  I  could  n't  take  it"  —  knowing 
very  well  that  she  would  force  it  upon  me.  "Ah, 
Mrs.  Neal,  I  do  not  deserve  all  your  kindness,"  — 
the  only  true  words  I  had  spoken  to  her,  —  "  indeed 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  13 

I  don't."  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  she  swallowed 
all  my  romantic  stories,  and  it  is  quite  possible 
that  she  liked  to  draw  me  out  just  to  enjoy  my 
exaggerations. 

I  was  one  of  those  restless,  peevish  children  who, 
no  matter  what  they  have,  always  want  something 
else.  The  last  new  toy  was  always  dissected  to  see 
what  made  it  go,  and  the  anticipated  one  kept  me 
awake  all  night.  "  When  will  it  be  sent  home  ?  " 
"  About  two  o'clock."  "  Well,  what  time  is  it 
now?" — and  so  on,  musing,  fretting,  discontented, 
and  rude.  Mother  said  it  was  badness,  Mary  said 
affection. 

As  I  look  back  many  strange  images  appear  that 
puzzle  me.  Some  of  these  scenes  I  know  are  real, 
and  others  appear  to  have  been  dreams.  At  times 
this  confusion  resolves  itself  into  a  chaos,  and  I 
fancy  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  disintegrate  the 
shadows  from  the  realities.  For  instance,  I  perfectly 
well  remember  walking  through  the  smoky  ruins  of 
New  York  with  my  father,  after  the  great  fire  of 
1 835.  While  we  were  looking  at  this  charred  mass 
and  watching  the  busy  people  hunting  for  half-con- 
sumed treasures,  and  firemen  pouring  streams  of 
water  on  the  smoldering  rafters,  two  Indians  in 
theatrical  costumes  began  dancing  a  war  dance 
which  they  terminated  by  tomahawking  each  other 
in  the  most  friendly  way,  and  then  bowing  to  the 
people,  who  applauded  them.  Now  I  am  quite 
sure  that  the  first  part  of  this  recollection  was  a 
reality,  and  it  seems  pretty  clear  that  the  latter  part 
of  it  was  a  dream.  It  is  quite  possible,  therefore, 


14  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


that  in  relating  many  of  my  juvenile  adventures 
I  may  be  led,  or  misled,  into  some  unintentional 
exaggerations. 

In  referring  to  Ireland's  "  Records  of  the  New 
York  Stage,"  I  find  the  following  notice  of  my  first 
appearance  in  that  city  : 

Master  Titus,  whose  songs  and  dances  were  much  applauded, 
took  a  benefit  on  the  3oth,  when  he  appeared  with  Master  Joseph 
Jefferson  in  a  celebrated  combat,  it  being  this  lad's  first  appear- 
ance out  of  the  juvenile  supernumerary  ranks.  This  little  fellow 
was  the  grandson  of  the  great  comedian  of  the  same  name,  and  is 
the  third  Joseph  Jefferson  known  to  our  stage.  He  was  born  at 
Philadelphia,  February  20,  1829. 

I  remember  this  circumstance  quite  well  —  not  the 
birth,  but  the  combat.  Young  Titus  was  attired  as 
an  American  sailor,  I  being  dressed  to  represent  a 
Greek  pirate.  I  was  much  smaller  than  my  antag- 
onist, but  as  the  fight  was  for  his  benefit,  good 
taste  suggested  that  he  should  overcome  and 
slay  me,  —  which  he  did,  —  and  as  the  curtain 
came  down  I  was  flat  on  my  back,  and  the  Ameri- 
can sailor,  waving  a  star-spangled  banner  over  me, 
placed  his  foot  magnanimously  on  the  chest  of  the 
vanquished  Greek.  The  fight  was  encored,  so  I 
had  to  come  to  life  again  —  quite  a  common  thing 
for  stage  pirates  —  and  die  twice.  I  rather  delighted 
in  being  the  vanquished  foe  :  nothing  could  possibly 
be  more  manly  than  a  slain  pirate.  Mr.  Ireland 
mentions  that  the  combat  was  "celebrated";  for 
what,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conjecture.  In  the  accounts 
of  our  last  war  with  the  Greeks  there  is  no  mention 
made  of  this  circumstance.  If,  therefore,  the  com- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  15 

bat  was  *  'celebrated,"  it  must  have  been  for  histori- 
cal inaccuracy.  I  remembered  this  battle  with  pride 
for  years.  The  beneficiary  must  have  remembered 
it  too,  as  it  was  traditional  in  our  family  that  I  came 
near  cutting  off  a  big  toe  of  little  Titus  in  the  conflict. 

In  New  York  we  lived  in  the  third  story  of  No. 
26  James  street,  next  to  the  Catholic  church,  and 
opposite  to  the  "  Bunch  of  Grapes,"  a  hotel  kept  by 
one  George  Bickford.  The  second  floor  was  occu- 
pied by  John  Sefton,  the  comedian  and  manager, 
and  the  lower  part  of  the  house  by  a  Mr.  Titus  and 
his  family.  Our  fence  in  the  rear  separated  us  from 
an  old  graveyard.  How  this  curious  old  cemetery^ 
ever  got  wedged  in  between  the  buildings  that  sur- 
rounded it  is  a  mystery.  Perhaps  in  times  gone 
by  an  old  church  may  have  stood  at  the  outskirts  of 
the  little  village  of  New  York,  and  beneath  these 
stones  "  the  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep." 
Passing  down  the  Bowery  on  the  elevated  railroad, 
by  looking  on  the  left-hand  side,  just  after  the  train 
branches  off  towards  Pearl  street,  this  queer  nook 
may  be  discovered,  and  if  the  inmates  only  had  the 
power  of  noting  the  progress  of  the  times,  they  would 
be  considerably  astonished  to  see  their  descend- 
ants whirled  over  their  heads  on  a  railroad  in  the  air. 

After  school  the  boys  with  whom  I  fraternized 
would  join  me  in  this  secluded  spot  for  our  evening 
games  —  the  high  tombstones  for  "I  spy,"  and  the 
flat  ones  to  act  on.  The  place  had  long  since 
ceased  to  be  used  as  a  burial-ground,  so  our  sports 
were  uninterrupted.  The  boys  in  the  neighbor- 
hood were  like  all  other  boys  in  all  neighborhoods 


16  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

—  mischievous.  My  arrival  had  given  a  fixsh  im- 
petus in  this  respect,  and  the  graveyard  offered  a  fine 
field  for  the  indulgence  of  sacrilegious  amusements. 
Ornamenting  the  tombstones  was  quite  a  specialty 
with  one  of  our  playmates.  He  had,  previous  to 
my  advent,  already  painted  a  large  red  face,  in  a 
broad  grin,  on  a  headstone  erected  to  the  memory 
of  the  Rev.  Jacob  Boul.  After  consultation  with 
the  artist,  I  cocked  a  battered  hat,  sidewise,  on  the 
top  of  the  face,  and  drilling  a  hole  in  its  mouth, 
stuck  a  pipe  in  it,  thus  giving  a  cheerful  tone  to  the 
monument,  and  almost  robbing  death  of  its  sting. 

Saturday,  there  being  no  school,  was  generally  set 
apart  as  our  "  Decoration  Day,"  and  it  was  rare 
sport  to  get  a  marking-brush  with  a  pot  of  black 
paint  and  embellish  the  virtues  of  the  departed  sin- 
ners. We  were  astonishingly  brave  in  the  day- 
light, even  defying  the  dead  bones  to  arise  and  face 
us  if  they  dared,  but  as  twilight  set  in  our  courage 
cooled,  and  we  would  talk  lower.  Sometimes,  as 
one  boy  after  another  would  scamper  home,  leaving 
the  place  "to  darkness  and  to  me,"  I  would  saunter 
slowly  along  with  my  hands  in  my  pockets,  whistling 
a  nervous  defiance  to  ghosts  in  general  and  these 
ghosts  in  particular,  but  taking  care  not  to  walk 
over  the  flat  tombstones,  upon  which  in  the  day- 
light I  would  dance  with  impunity.  Now,  as  the 
shadows  of  night  gathered  around  me,  I  would 
increase  my  pace,  scampering  faster  and  faster 
through  the  tall  grass,  and  rapidly  climbing  over 
the  fence,  fancying  that  the  Rev.  Mr.  Boul  would 
soon  have  me  by  the  leg  if  I  did  not  hurry. 


OLD    JEWISH     BURYING-GROUND,    PEARL     STREET,    NEW     YORK     CITY. 


CHAPTER  II 
BOYHOOD 

Westward  Ho! — Chicago  in  1839 — An  Adven- 
ture in  Springfield,  Illinois  —  Hard  Times — 
James  Wallack,  Sr. —  The  Elder  Booth  —  Mac- 
ready  —  Our  Voyage  on  a  Flatboat 

IN  the  year  1 838  the  new  town  of  Chicago  had  just 
turned  from  an  Indian  village  into  a  thriving  lit- 
tle place,  and  my  uncle  had  written  to  my  father 
urging  him  to  join  in  the  management  of  the  new 
theater  which  was  then  being  built  there.  As  each 
fresh  venture  presented  itself  my  father's  hopeful 
nature  predicted  immediate  and  successful  results. 
He  had  scarcely  finished  the  letter  when  he  declared 
that  our  fortunes  were  made,  so  we  turned  our  faces 
towards  the  setting  sun.  In  those  days  a  journey 
from  Albany  to  Chicago  was  no  small  undertaking 
for  a  large  family  in  straitened  circumstances  ;  cer- 
tain cherished  articles  had  to  be  parted  with  to 
procure  necessary  comforts  for  the  trip.  I  really 
do  not  know  how,  but  we  got  from  Albany  to 
Schenectady,  where  we  acted  for  a  few  nights  with 


18  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


a  company  that  was  playing  there.  Several  of  the 
actors,  who  had  received  no  salary  for  some  time, 
decided  to  accompany  my  father  and  seek  their  for- 
tunes in  the  West. 

As  I  remember  it,  our  journey  was  long,  but  not 
tedious.  We  traveled  part  of  the  way  in  a  fast- 
sailing  packet-boat  on  the  Erie  Canal,  the  only 
smoke  issuing  from  the  caboose  stove-pipe.  I  can 
remember  our  party  admiring  this  craft  with  the 
same  enthusiasm  that  we  now  express  in  looking 
at  a  fine  ocean  steamer.  She  was  painted  white 
and  green  and  enlivened  with  blue  window  blinds, 
and  a  broad  red  stripe  running  from  bow  to  stern. 
Her  name  was  the  Pioneer,  which  was  to  us  most 
suggestive,  as  our  little  band  was  among  the  early 
dramatic  emigrants  to  the  far  West.  The  boat  re- 
sembled a  Noah's  ark  with  a  flat  roof,  and  my 
father,  like  the  patriarch  of  old,  took  his  entire 
family  on  board,  with  this  difference,  however  — 
he  was  required  to  pay  his  passage,  it  being  under- 
stood between  him  and  the  captain  that  he  should 
stop  a  night  in  Utica  and  one  in  Syracuse,  give 
a  theatrical  entertainment  in  each  place,  and  hand 
over  the  receipts  in  payment  of  our  fare. 

We  acted  in  Utica  for  one  night,  and  the  receipts 
were  quite  good.  My  father  and  mother  were  in 
high  spirits,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  captain 
had  hopes  that  the  next  night's  entertainment 
in  Syracuse  would  liquidate  our  liabilities,  for 
there  was  a  visible  improvement  in  the  coffee  at 
breakfast,  and  an  extra  piece  of  pie  all  around  for 
dinner.  The  next  night,  unfortunately,  the  ele- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  19 

ments  were  against  us:  it  rained  in  torrents  and 
the  attendance  was  light,  so  that  we  were  short  of 
our  passage  money  about  ten  dollars. 

The  captain  being  a  strict  member  of  the 

Church  could  not  attend  either  of  the  perform- 
ances, and  as  he  was  in  his  heart  most  anxious  to 
see  what  acting  was  like,  he  proposed  that  if  the 
company  would  "  cut  up "  for  him  and  give  him  a 
private  show  in  the  cabin  he  would  call  it  "square." 
Our  actors,  being  highly  legitimate,  declined ;  but 
my  mother,  ever  anxious  to  show  off  the  histrionic 
qualities  of  her  son,  proposed  that  I  should  sing 
some  comic  songs  for  the  captain,  and  so  ransom 
the  rest  of  the  actors.  The  captain  turned  it  over 
in  his  mind, —  being,  I  am  afraid,  a  little  suspicious 
of  my  genius, —  but  after  due  consideration  con- 
sented. So  he  prepared  himself  for  the  entertain- 
ment, the  cook  and  my  mother  comprising  the  rest 
of  the  audience.  The  actors  had  wisely  retired  to 
the  upper  deck,  as  they  had  been  afflicted  on  former 
occasions.  I  now  began  a  dismal  comic  song 
called  "The  Devil  and  Little  Mike."  It  consisted 
of  some  twenty-five  stanzas,  each  one  containing  two 
lines  with  a  large  margin  of  "  whack  fol  de  riddle." 
It  was  never  quite  clear  whether  the  captain  en- 
joyed this  entertainment  or  not :  my  mother  said  he 
did,  for,  though  the  religious  turn  of  his  mind  would 
naturally  suppress  any  impulse  to  applaud,  he  said 
even  before  I  had  half  finished  that  he  was  quite 
satisfied. 

On  our  arrival  in  Buffalo  we  found  another 
pioneer  company,  under  the  management  of  Dean 


20  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  McKenney.  Here  we  staid  over  two  or  three 
days,  waiting  for  the  steamer  to  take  us  up  the 
lakes.  Marble  was  starring  there ;  he  was  one  of 
the  first  and  best  of  the  Yankee  comedians.  In 
those  days  the  stage  New  Englander  was  acted 
and  dressed  in  a  most  extravagant  manner.  I  re- 
member seeing  Marble  play,  and  his  costume  was 
much  after  the  present  caricature  of  Uncle  Sam, 
minus  the  stars  but  glorying  in  the  stripes. 

In  a  few  days  we  steamed  up  the  beautiful  lakes 
of  Erie,  Huron,  and  Michigan.  The  boat  would 
stop  sometimes  for  hours  at  one  of  the  stations  to 
take  in  wood,  or  a  stray  passenger,  and  then  the 
Indians  would  paddle  out  to  us  in  their  canoes 
offering  their  beadwork  and  moccasins  for  sale. 
Sometimes  we  would  go  ashore  and  walk  on  the 
beach  gathering  pebbles,  carnelians,  and  agates.  I 
thought  them  of  immense  value,  and  kept  my  treas- 
ures for  years  afterwards.  What  a  lovely  trip  it 
was  as  I  remember  it !  Lake  Huron  at  sunset  is 
before  me  now  —  a  purple  sky  melting  into  a 
golden  horizon  ;  rich  green  foliage  on  the  banks ; 
yellow  sand  with  many-colored  pebbles  making 
the  beach  of  the  lake ;  the  clear  and  glassy  water ; 
groups  of  Indians  lolling  on  the  banks,  smoking 
their  pipes  and  making  baskets ;  the  hills  dotted 
with  their  little  villages  with  tents  made  of  skins  and 
painted  canvas ;  blue  smoke  curling  slowly  up  in 
the  calm  summer  air;  and  all  the  bright  colors 
reflected  in  the  lake.  I  stood  there  as  a  boy,  skim- 
ming flat  stones  over  the  surface  of  the  water,  and 
now  as  I  write  in  the  autumn  of  my  life  these  once 


OF    JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  21 

quiet  shores  are  covered  with  busy  cities ;  the  fur- 
naces glow  with  melted  iron,  the  locomotive 
screams  and  whistles  along  the  road  where  once 
the  ox-teams  used  to  carry  the  mail,  and  corner 
lots  and  real-estate  agents  "fill  the  air."  When 
we  think  that  all  these  wonderful  changes  have 
taken  place  within  the  last  fifty  years,  it  is  startling 
to  speculate  upon  what  the  next  half  century  may 
bring  about. 

So  day  by  day  passes,  till  one  night  a  light  is 
espied  in  the  distance,  then  another,  and  then 
many  more  dance  and  reflect  themselves  in  the 
water.  It  is  too  late  to  go  ashore,  so  we  drop 
anchor.  At  sunrise  we  are  all  on  deck  looking  at 
the  haven  of  our  destination,  and  there  in  the 
morning  light,  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Michigan, 
stands  the  little  town  of  Chicago,  containing  two 
thousand  inhabitants.  Aunt,  uncle,  and  their  chil- 
dren come  to  meet  and  welcome  us.  Then  there 
is  such  a  shaking  of  hands  and  a  kiss  all  round, 
and  "Why,  how  well  you  are  looking!"  and  "  Is 
this  Charlie  ?  How  he  has  grown  !  "  "  Why,  that 's 
not  Joe  !  Dear  me,  who  'd  have  believed  it  ?  " 
And  then  we  all  laugh  again  and  have  another 
kiss. 

The  captain  said  he  had  enjoyed  a  splendid  trip, 
such  fun,  such  music  and  singing  and  dancing. 
"  Well,  good-bye  all,"  "  Good  luck  "  ;  and  off  we  go 
ashore  and  walk  through  the  busy  little  town,  busy 
even  then,  people  hurrying  to  and  fro,  frame  build- 
ings going  up,  board  sidewalks  going  down,  new 
hotels,  new  churches,  new  theaters,  everything  new. 


22  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


Saw  and  hammer,  —  saw,  saw,  bang,  bang,  —  look 
out  for  the  drays  !  —  bright  and  muddy  streets,  — 
gaudy-colored  calicos,  —  blue  and  red  flannels  and 
striped  ticking  hanging  outside  the  dry-goods 
stores,  —  bar-rooms,  —  real-estate  offices,  —  attor- 
neys-at-law  —  oceans  of  them. 

And  now  for  the  new  theater,  newly  painted 
canvas,  tack-hammer  at  work  on  stuffed  seats  in 
the  dress-circle,  planing-boards  in  the  pit,  new 
drop-curtain  letdown  for  inspection,  "beautiful!" 
—  a  medallion  of  Shakspere,  suffering  from  a  severe 
pain  in  his  stomach,  over  the  center,  with  "  One  touch 
of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  kin  "  written 
under  him,  and  a  large,  painted,  brick-red  drapery 
looped  up  by  Justice,  with  sword  and  scales,  show- 
ing an  arena  with  a  large  number  of  gladiators 
hacking  away  at  one  another  in  the  distance  to  a 
delighted  Roman  public  ;  though  what  Justice  had 
to  do  with  keeping  these  gladiators  on  exhibition 
was  never  clearly  explained  by  the  artist.  There 
were  two  private  boxes  with  little  white-and-gold 
balustrades  and  turkey-red  curtains,  over  one  box  a 
portrait  of  Beethoven  and  over  the  other  a  portrait  of 
Handel  —  upon  unfriendly  terms,  glaring  at  each 
other.  The  dome  was  pale  blue,  with  pink-and-white 
clouds,  on  which  reposed  four  ungraceful  ballet  girls 
representing  the  seasons,  and  apparently  dropping 
flowers,  snow,  and  grapes  into  the  pit.  Over  each 
season  there  floated  four  fat  little  cherubim  "  in 
various  stages  of  spinal  curvature." 

My   father,    being  a   scenic    artist  himself,  was 
naturally  disposed    to    be    critical,   and  when   the 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  (GRANDFATHER  OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON). 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  23 

painter   asked   his    opinion    of  the  dome,  he  re- 
plied : 

"Well,  since  you  ask  me,  don't  you  think  that 
your  angels  are  a  little  stiff  in  their  attitudes  ? " 

44  No,  sir;  not  for  angels.  When  I  deal  with 
mythological  subjects  I  never  put  my  figures  in 
natural  attitudes ;  it  would  be  inharmonious.  A 
natural  angel  would  be  out  of  keeping  with  the 
rest  of  the  work." 

To  which  my  father  replied  that  it  was  quite 
likely  that  such  would  be  the  case.  "  But  why 
have  you  made  Handel  and  Beethoven  frown  at 
each  other?  They  are  not  mythological  subjects." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  painter.  "  But  they  are 
musicians,  you  know ;  and  great  musicians  always 
quarrel,  eh  ?  Ha,  ha  !  "  - 

"Yes,"  said  my  father;  "but  as  Handel  died 
before  Beethoven  was  born,  I  don't  see  how  any 
coolness  could  have  existed  between  them." 

The  foregoing  dialogue,  while  it  may  not  be 
verbatim,  is  at  least  in  the  spirit  of  the  original.  I 
could  not  possibly  remember  the  exact  words  of 
the  different  conversations  that  will  naturally  occur 
through  these  chapters ;  but  I  have  placed  them  in 
their  present  form,  as  I  believe  it  is  the  clearest 
and  most  effective  way  to  tell  the  story.  Many  of 
the  conversations  and  incidents  are  traditional  in 
my  family  ;  I  have  good  reason  to  take  them  for 
granted,  and  I  must  ask  the  reader  to  share  my 
confidence. 

The  greenroom  was  a  perfect  gem,  with  a 
three-foot  wavy  mirror  and  cushioned  seats  around 


24  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  wall  —  traps  under  the  stage  so  convenient 
that  Ophelia  could  walk  from  her  grave  to  her 
dressing-room  with  perfect  ease. 

With  what  delight  the  actors  looked  forward  to 
the  opening  of  a  new  theater  in  a  new  town,  where 
dramatic  entertainments  were  still  unknown — re- 
pairing their  wardrobes,  studying  their  new  parts, 
and  speculating  on  the  laurels  that  were  to  be  won ! 

After  a  short  season  in  Chicago,  with  the  vary- 
ing success  which  in  those  days  always  attended 
the  drama,  the  company  went  to  Galena  for  a  short 
season,  traveling  in  open  wagons  over  the  prairie. 
Our  seats  were  the  trunks  that  contained  the  ward- 
robe— those  old-fashioned  hair  trunks  of  a  mottled 
and  spotted  character  made  from  the  skins  of  de- 
funct circus  horses:  "To  what  base  uses  we  may 
return  ! "  These  smooth  hair  trunks,  with  geo- 
metrical problems  in  brass  tacks  ornamenting  their 
surface,  would  have  made  slippery  seats  even  on  a 
macadamized  road,  so  one  may  imagine  the  diffi- 
culty we  had  in  holding  on  while  jolting  over  a 
rough  prairie.  Nothing  short  of  a  severe  pressure 
on  the  brass  tacks  and  a  convulsive  grip  of  the 
handles  could  have  kept  us  in  position ;  and  when- 
ever a  treacherous  handle  gave  way  our  company 
was  for  the  time  being  just  one  member  short.  As 
we  were  not  an  express  mail-train,  of  course  we 
were  allowed  more  than  twenty  minutes  for  refresh- 
ments ;  the  only  difficulty  was  the  refreshments.  We 
stopped  at  farm-houses  on  the  way  for  this  uncer- 
tain necessity,  and  they  were  far  apart.  If  the 
roads  were  heavy  and  the  horses  jaded,  those 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  25 

actors  who  had  tender  hearts  and  tough  limbs 
jumped  out  and  walked  to  ease  the  poor  brutes. 
Often  I  have  seen  my  father  trudging  along  ahead 
of  the  wagon,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  thinking  of  the  large  fortune  he  was  going  to 
make  in  the  next  town,  now  and  then  looking  back 
with  his  light  blue  eyes,  giving  my  mother  a  cheer- 
ful nod  which  plainly  said  :  "  I  'm  all  right.  This 
is  splendid ;  nothing  could  be  finer."  If  it  rained 
he  was  glad  it  was  not  snowing ;  if  it  snowed  he 
was  thankful  it  was  not  raining.  This  contented 
nature  was  his  only  inheritance ;  but  it  was  better 
than  a  fortune  made  in  Galena  or  anywhere  else, 
for  nothing  could  rob  him  of  it. 

We  traveled  from  Galena  to  Dubuque  on  the 
frozen  river  in  sleighs — smoother  work  than  the 
roughly  rutted  roads  of  the  prairie ;  but  it  was  a 
perilous  journey,  for  a  warm  spell  had  set  in  and 
made  the  ice  sloppy  and  unsafe.  We  would  some- 
times hear  it  crack  and  see  it  bend  under  our 
horses'  feet :  now  a  long-drawn  breath  of  relief  as 
we  passed  some  dangerous  spot,  then  a  convulsive 
grasping  of  our  nearest  companion  as  the  ice 
groaned  and  shook  beneath  us.  Well,  the  passen- 
gers arrived  safe,  but,  horror  to  relate !  the  sleigh 
containing  the  baggage,  private  and  public,  with 
the  scenery  and  properties,  green  curtain  and  drop, 
broke  through  the  ice  and  tumbled  into  the  Missis- 
sippi. My  poor  mother  was  in  tears,  but  my 
father  was  in  high  spirits  at  his  good  luck,  as  he 
called  it —  because  there  was  a  sand-bar  where  the 
sleigh  went  in  !  So  the  things  were  saved  at  last, 


26  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

though  in  a  forlorn  condition.  The  opening  had 
to  be  delayed  in  order  to  dry  the  wardrobe  and 
smooth  the  scenery. 

The  halls  of  the  hotel  were  strung  with  clothes- 
lines, and  the  costumes  of  all  nations  festooned  the 
doors  of  the  bedrooms,  so  that  when  an  unsuspi- 
cious boarder  came  out  suddenly  into  the  entry  he 
was  likely  to  run  his  head  into  a  damp  "  Roman  " 
shirt,  or  perhaps  have  the  legs  of  a  soaking  pair  of 
red  tights  dangling  round  his  neck.  Mildew  filled 
the  air.  The  gilded  pasteboard  helmets  fared  the 
worst.  They  had  succumbed  to  the  softening  in- 
fluences of  the  Mississippi,  and  were  as  battered 
and  out  of  shape  as  if  they  had  gone  through  the 
pass  of  Thermopylae.  Limp  leggins  of  scale  armor 
hung  wet  and  dejected  from  the  lines ;  low-spirited 
cocked  hats  were  piled  up  in  a  corner ;  rough-dried 
court  coats  stretched  their  arms  out  as  if  in  the  agony 
of  drowning,  as  though  they  would  say,  "  Help  me, 
Cassius,  or  I  sink."  Theatrical  scenery  at  its  best 
looks  pale  and  shabby  in  the  daytime,  but  a  well- 
worn  set  after  a  six-hours'  bath  in  a  river  presents 
the  most  woe-begone  appearance  that  can  well  be 
imagined ;  the  sky  and  water  of  the  marine  had 
so  mingled  with  each  other  that  the  horizon  line 
had  quite  disappeared.  My  father  had  painted  the 
scenery,  and  he  was  not  a  little  crestfallen  as  he 
looked  upon  the  ruins :  a  wood  scene  had  amalga- 
mated with  a  Roman  street  painted  on  the  back  of 
it,  and  had  so  run  into  stains  and  winding  streaks 
that  he  said  it  looked  like  a  large  map  of  South 
America  ;  and,  pointing  out  the  Andes  with  his  cane, 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  27 

he  humorously  traced  the  Amazon  to  its  source. 
Of  course  this  mishap  on  the  river  delayed  the 
opening  for  a  week.  In  the  mean  time  the  scenery 
had  to  be  repainted  and  the  wardrobe  put  in  order: 
many  of  the  things  were  ruined,  and  the  helmets 
defied  repair. 

After  a  short  and,  I  think,  a  good  season  at  Du- 
buque,  we  traveled  along  the  river  to  the  different 
towns  just  springing  up  in  the  West — Burlington, 
Quincy,  Peoria,  Pekin,  and  Springfield.  In  those 
primitive  days,  I  need  scarcely  say,  we  were  often 
put  to  severe  shifts  for  a  theater. 

In  Quincy  the  court-house  was  fitted  up,  and 
it  answered  admirably.  In  one  town  a  large 
warehouse  was  utilized,  but  in  Pekin  we  were 
reduced  to  the  dire  necessity  of  acting  in  a  pork- 
house.  This  establishment  was  a  large  frame 
building,  stilted  up  on  piles  about  two  feet  from 
the  ground,  and  situated  in  the  open  prairie  just 
at  the  edge  of  the  town.  The  pigs  were  banished 
from  their  comfortable  quarters,  and  left  to  browse 
about  on  the  common  during  the  day,  taking 
shelter  under  their  former  abode  in  the  evening. 
After  undergoing  some  slight  repairs  in  the  roof, 
and  submitting  to  a  thorough  scouring  and  white- 
washing, the  building  presented  quite  a  respect- 
able appearance.  The  opening  play  was  "  Clari, 
the  Maid  of  Milan."  This  drama  was  written  by 
John  Howard  Payne,  and  his  song  of  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home  "  belongs  to  the  play.  My  mother, 
on  this  occasion,  played  the  part  of  Clari  and  sang 
the  touching  ballad. 


28  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Now  it  is  a  pretty  well  established  fact  in  theat- 
rical history  that  if  an  infant  has  been  smuggled 
into  the  theater  under  the  shawl  of  its  fond  mother, 
however  dormant  it  may  have  been  during  the 
unimportant  scenes  of  the  play,  no  sooner  is  an 
interesting  point  arrived  at,  where  the  most  perfect 
stillness  is  required,  than  the  "dear  little  innocent" 
will  break  forth  in  lamentation  loud  and  deep.  On 
this  occasion  no  youthful  humanity  disturbed  the 
peace,  but  the  "animal  kingdom,"  in  the  shape  of  the 
banished  pigs,  asserted  its  right  to  a  public  hearing. 
As  soon  as  the  song  of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home"  com- 
menced they  began  by  bumping  their  backs  up 
against  the  beams,  keeping  anything  but  good  time 
to  the  music ;  and  as  my  mother  plaintively  chanted 
the  theme  "  Sweet,  Sweet  Home,"  realizing  their 
own  cruel  exile,  the  pigs  squealed  most  dismally. 
Of  course  the  song  was  ruined,  and  my  mother 
was  in  tears  at  the  failure.  My  father,  however, 
consoled  her  by  saying  that  though  the  grunting 
was  not  quite  in  harmony  with  the  music,  it  was  in 
perfect  sympathy  with  the  sentiment. 

Springfield  being  the  capital  of  Illinois,  it  was 
determined  to  devote  the  entire  season  to  the  en- 
tertainment of  the  members  of  the  legislature. 
Having  made  money  for  several  weeks  previous  to 
our  arrival  here,  the  management  resolved  to  hire 
a  lot  and  build  a  theater.  This  sounds  like  a  large 
undertaking,  and  perhaps  with  their  limited  means 
it  was  a  rash  step.  I  fancy  that  my  father  rather 
shrunk  from  this  bold  enterprise,  but  the  senior 
partner  (McKenzie)  was  made  of  sterner  stuff,  and, 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  29 

his  energy  being  quite  equal  to  his  ambition,  the 
ground  was  broken  and  the  temple  erected. 

The  building  of  a  theater  in  those  days  did  not 
require  the  amount  of  capital  that  it  does  now. 
Folding  opera-chairs  were  unknown.  Gas  was  an 
occult  mystery,  not  yet  acknowledged  as  a  fact  by 
the  unscientific  world  in  the  West ;  a  second-class 
quality  of  sperm-oil  was  the  height  of  any  man- 
ager's ambition.  The  footlights  of  the  best  thea- 
ters in  the  Western  country  were  composed  of 
lamps  set  in  a  "float "with  the  counter-weights. 
When  a  dark  stage  was  required,  or  the  lamps 
needed  trimming  or  refilling,  this  mechanical  con- 
trivance was  made  to  sink  under  the  stage.  I  be- 
lieve if  the  theater,  or  "  Devil's  workshop,"  as  it 
was  sometimes  called,  had  suddenly  been  illumi- 
nated with  the  same  material  now  in  use,  its  enemies 
would  have  declared  that  the  light  was  furnished 
from  the  "Old  Boy's"  private  gasometer. 

The  new  theater,  when  completed,  was  about 
ninety  feet  deep  and  forty  feet  wide.  No  attempt 
was  made  at  ornamentation ;  and  as  it  was  un- 
painted,  the  simple  lines  of  architecture  upon  which 
it  was  constructed  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  large 
dry-goods  box  with  a  roof.  I  do  not  think  my 
father,  or  McKenzie,  ever  owned  anything  with  a 
roof  until  now,  so  they  were  naturally  proud  of 
their  possession. 

In  the  midst  of  our  rising  fortunes  a  heavy 
blow  fell  upon  us.  A  religious  revival  was  in 
progress  at  the  time,  and  the  fathers  of  the  church 
not  only  launched  forth  against  us  in  their  sermons, 


30  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

but  by  some  political  manceuver  got  the  city  to 
pass  a  new  law  enjoining  a  heavy  license  against 
our  "unholy"  calling;  I  forget  the  amount,  but 
it  was  large  enough  to  be  prohibitory.  Here 
was  a  terrible  condition  of  affairs  :  all  our  avail- 
able funds  invested,  the  legislature  in  session, 
the  town  full  of  people,  and  we  by  a  heavy 
license  denied  the  privilege  of  opening  the  new 
theater! 

In  the  midst  of  their  trouble  a  young  lawyer 
called  on  the  managers.  He  had  heard  of  the  in- 
justice, and  offered,  if  they  would  place  the  matter 
in  his  hands,  to  have  the  license  taken  off,  declaring 
that  he  only  desired  to  see  fair  play,  and  he  would 
accept  no  fee  whether  he  failed  or  succeeded.  The 
case  was  brought  up  before  the  council  The 
young  lawyer  began  his  harangue.  He  handled 
the  subject  with  tact,  skill,  and  humor,  tracing  the 
history  of  the  drama  from  the  time  when  Thespis 
acted  in  a  cart  to  the  stage  of  to-day.  He  illus- 
trated his  speech  with  a  number  of  anecdotes,  and 
kept  the  council  in  a  roar  of  laughter ;  his  good- 
humor  prevailed,  and  the  exorbitant  tax  was  taken 
off. 

This  young  lawyer  was  very  popular  in  Spring- 
field, and  was  honored  and  beloved  by  all  who 
knew  him,  and  after  the  time  of  which  I  write  he 
held  rather  an  important  position  in  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  United  States.  He  now  lies  buried 
near  Springfield,  under  a  monument1  commemorat- 
ing his  greatness  and  his  virtues  —  and  his  name 
was  Abraham  Lincoln  ! 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  31 

At  the  end  of  our  Springfield  season  my  father 
dissolved  partnership  with  McKenzie,  and  my  next 
remembrance  finds  us  in  the  town  of  Memphis. 
Bad  business  had  closed  the  theater,  and  my  father 
had  turned  from  scene-painter  to  sigh-painter. 

There  had  been  an  ordinance  passed  by  the 
fathers  of  the  city  requiring  that  all  carts,  drays,  and 
public  vehicles  should  be  numbered.  By  some  ac- 
cident I  heard  of  this,  and,  as  I  was  on  the  alert  to 
get  work  for  my  father,  I  called  at  the  mayor's 
office  to  apply  for  the  contract.  The  mayor  had 
seen  me  on  the  stage  and,  to  my  no  small  delight, 
recognized  me.  I  explained  to  him  that  my  father 
was  an  artist  as  well  as  a  comedian,  and  that,  the 
theater  being  closed,  he  devoted  his  time  to  sign 
and  ornamental  painting;  not,  however,  as  an 
amusement.  It  was  natural  that  the  mayor, —  a 
jovial,  and  possibly  not  a  very  dignified  or  dreadful 
person, — should  be  interested  in  a  youngster  hav- 
ing the  promptness  and  the  effrontery  to  be  the 
first  to  apply  for  the  contract. 

My  interview  with  the  mayor  was  a  success,  and 
ended  in  my  getting  the  contract  for  my  father  to 
paint  the  numbers.  How  delightful  it  was  to  go 
home  with  such  good  news  !  Then  the  charm  of 
unfolding  such  an  agreeable  surprise  to  the  family 
—  what  lovely  revenge  for  the  scolding  my  mother 
had  given  me  the  day  before  ;  and,  above  all,  the 
tremendous  round  of  applause  that  such  an  achieve- 
ment must  bring  down. 

My  father  was  too  sensitive  and  retiring  to  have 
ever  dreamed  of  doing  such  a  thing,  and  perhaps 


32  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

when  I  arrived  at  his  age  I  might,  under  the  same 
circumstances,  have  shrunk  from  it  myself.  But  1 
was  young  and  rash,  and  perhaps  desperate  ;  for  if 
I  had  not  received  many  hard  knocks  myself,  my 
family  had,  and,  feeling  the  blows  through  them,  I 
experienced  a  ferocious  delight  in  doing  battle  with 
the  world,  and,  as  I  was  generally  victorious,  my 
success  made  me  bold.  The  new  industry  fur- 
nished my  father  and  myself  with  a  month's  work, 
so  that  we  were  indebted  to  this  stride  in  South- 
western civilization  for  at  least  a  small  addition  to 
our  income. 

One  of  my  father's  ornamental  signs,  on  which 
was  painted  an  amiable  tailor  measuring  a  hand- 
some young  man  for  a  fashionable  suit  of  clothes, 
came  under  the  notice  of  Mr.  McAllister.  This 
gentleman  was  the  owner  of  a  large  billiard  - 
saloon  and  bar-room,  to  which  was  attached  a  mys- 
terious apartment  where  late  hours  were  kept.  A 
large  mahogany  table  covered  with  a  suspicious- 
looking  green  cloth  gave  evidence  of  the  kind  of 
trade  that  was  plied  in  this  exchange,  and  strongly 
corroborated  the  popular  tradition  that  Mr.  Mc- 
Allister's midnight  visitors  were  "  gentlemanly 
sports."  The  proprietor  having,  it  seems,  a  turn  for 
art,  as  well  as  for  cards,  arranged  for  my  father  to 
decorate  his  billiard-room  first,  and  then  his  house. 
In  the  hall  of  the  latter  my  father  painted  two 
landscapes  from  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  " —  one 
representing  Loch  Katrine,  with  her  ladyship  pad- 
dling her  own  canoe  in  the  distance,  and  a  moun- 
tain torrent  in  the  foreground  with  the  bridge  made 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  33 

famous  by  the  combat  of  Fitz- James  and  Roderick 
Dhu.  The  subjects  had  been  chosen  out  of  com- 
pliment to  Mr.  McAllister,  as  he  was  of  Scotch 
descent. 

The  time  was  drawing  near  for  our  departure  from 
Memphis,  as  the  season  in  Mobile  was  to  begin  in 
November,  and  the  money  due  for  decorating  McAl- 
lister's house  was  necessary  to  defray  the  expenses 
of  our  journey  down  the  river;  but,  to  our  great  in- 
convenience, it  was  not  forthcoming.  Whether  the 
"gentlemanly  sports"  had  been  more  fortunate 
than  the  proprietor  or  not  I  am  unable  to  say,  but 
my  father  had  written  twice  without  receiving  an 
answer,  and  I  had  been  dispatched  to  make  a  per- 
sonal appeal  to  him.  We  delayed  our  departure 
for  two  weeks,  hoping  to  get  some  satisfaction ; 
but,  no  notice  being  taken  of  our  demands,  it  was 
decided  to  wait  no  longer. 

In  our  straitened  circumstances  we  were  forced 
to  take  a  steerage  passage  on  one  of  the  steamboats 
between  Memphis  and  New  Orleans.  This  was 
both  humiliating  and  inconvenient.  But  Mary  was 
a  host,  and  could,  by  her  devotion  and  tact,  have 
made  us  comfortable  even  under  more  trying  condi- 
tions. I  know  that  my  mother's  pride  was  wounded, 
and  that  in  her  mortification  she  wondered  that  my 
father  could  face  the  degradation  with  such  forti- 
tude ;  but  from  what  I  remember  of  him,  and  all  that 
I  have  heard  related  in  connection  with  his  charac- 
ter, nothing  short  of  sickness  or  death  in  his  family 
could  induce  him  to  complain.  This  kind  of  philoso- 
phy can  be  learned  neither  from  books  nor  from  ex- 


34  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

perience  ;  it  is  a  natural  gift,  and  seems  to  come  intq 
the  world  hand  in  hand  with  the  spirit  that  is  to 
bear  it  company.  No  seed  can  sow  it,  and  no  soil 
can  grow  it ;  the  quality  is  inborn,  and  is  so  deeply 
rooted  that  it  defies  cultivation  or  extermination. 

After  arranging  ourselves  as  comfortably  as  we 
could,  the  mate  gave  notice  that  the  boat  would  not 
start  until  late  that  evening.  On  hearing  this  my 
mother  asked  me  some  questions  regarding  Mrs. 
McAllister,  whom,  of  course,  I  had  seen  and  spoken 
with  during  the  time  we  had  been  engaged  in  the 
decoration  of  her  house.  My  report  of  the  lady  be- 
ing quite  favorable,  my  mother  started  in  company 
with  myself  to  make  an  appeal.  Mrs.  McAllister, 
who  had  been  out  driving  with  her  children,  met  us 
at  the  door.  On  my  presenting  my  mother,  we  were 
asked  into  the  house  and  proceeded  with  her  to  the 
drawing-room.  My  mother  after  apologizing  for 
our  visit,  explained  the  nature  of  it,  calling  the 
lady's  attention  to  the  hard  and  honest  work  of  her 
artist  husband,  and  contrasting  the  elegant  sur- 
roundings of  the  lady  and  her  children  with  the 
poverty  of  her  own.  In  an  hour  afterwards  the 
lady  left  the  house  and  returned  with  the  money. 
Placing  it  in  my  mother's  hand,  she  bade  us  God- 
speed, and  away  we  went  with  a  heavier  purse  and 
lighter  hearts. 

We  hurried  to  the  boat  with  our  treasure, — 
about  two  hundred  dollars,  I  think, — and  my 
mother  was  both  delighted  and  triumphant.  When 
she  placed  the  money  in  my  father's  hands  he 
looked  at  it  in  amazement,  and  after  declaring  that 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  35 

his  wife  was  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the 
world,  suggested  that  we  should  at  once  adjourn  to 
the  cabin ;  but  the  most  wonderful  woman  in  the 
world  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  urged  my  father  to 
bear  the  discomfiture,  so  that  we  might  arrive  at 
our  journey's  end  with  some  means  of  support  — 
dwelling  upon  the  fact  that  otherwise  he  would 
have  to  draw  an  advance  from  the  manager  on  our 
arrival  in  Mobile,  which  not  only  would  be  humili- 
ating, but  might  weaken  his  position.  Of  course 
he  saw  the  force  and  wisdom  of  his  wife's  counsel, 
and,  I  think  rather  reluctantly,  consented.  As  I  re- 
flect upon  this  situation,  it  seems  strange  that  my 
mother,  who  felt  most  keenly  this  humiliation,  was 
content  to  bear  it  rather  than  lose  the  means  that 
would  render  our  future  position  more  secure ; 
while  my  father,  who  could  smile  serenely  at  our 
condition,  would  willingly  have  parted  with  all  the 
money  to  have  given  us  present  comfort.  It  can 
be  accounted  for  only  by  the  extreme  contrast  in 
their  natures :  he  was  hopeful,  my  mother  was 
apprehensive.  May  not  generosity  spring  from  one 
of  these  causes,  and  caution  from  the  other? 

As  usual,  my  father  was  soon  contented.  This 
novel  and  uncomfortable  mode  of  traveling,  instead 
of  depressing  him,  seemed  to  raise  his  spirits ;  for 
I  can  well  remember  that  while  the  boat  was 
steaming  down  the  river  he  employed  the  time  in 
studying  some  new  parts  that  he  was  to  act  during 
the  approaching  season,  and  when  it  stopped  to 
take  in  wood  he  would  get  out  his  tackle  and  fish 
from  the  stern  of  the  vessel.  One  would  suppose 


36  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


that  this  indifference  to  really  serious  inconvenience 
sprang  from  weakness,  but  this  was  not  so  ;  for, 
though  there  was  nothing  of  the  tyrant  in  him, 
when  he  felt  that  it  was  time  to  make  a  stand  he 
made  a  bold  one,  and  was  as  solid  as  a  rock. 

We  arrived  at  Mobile  in  October,  1842.  The 
yellow  fever  was  raging  in  the  town,  but  we  were 
forced  to  come  before  the  rest  of  the  company,  as 
my  father  was  the  scenic  artist  as  well  as  the  come- 
dian of  the  theater,  and  his  presence  was  required 
at  an  early  date  as  the  scenery  needed  repainting. 

We  had  for  years  been  traveling  about  the 
country,  and  my  father  and  mother  congratulated 
themselves  upon  this  present  permanent  situation, 
as  it  afforded  them  not  only  rest,  but  an  oppor- 
tunity of  sending  my  sister  and  myself  to  school. 
Sadly  enough,  the  last  desire  of  this  hopeful  man 
was  shattered,  for  two  weeks  after  our  arrival  he 
was  stricken  with  yellow  fever,  and  died  on  the 
24th  of  November,  1842.  I  will  not  describe  the 
effect  of  this  awful  blow  on  our  family,  not  desir- 
ing to  cloud  the  narrative  of  my  life  with  the  rela- 
tion of  domestic  sorrow.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
by  this  sad  event  we  were  deprived  of  a  dear 
friend  upon  whom  we  depended  for  counsel  and 
support. 

My  sister  and  myself  were  now  engaged  at  the 
theater  to  act  such  children's  parts  as  our  size  and 
talent  warranted  the  manager  in  casting  us  in  ; 
appearing  in  fancy  dances  and  comic  duets,  added 
to  which  I  was  to  grind  colors  in  the  paint-room,  — 
assistant  artist,  I  was  called  in  the  play-bill,  —  and 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  (FATHER  OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON). 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  37 

make  myself  generally  useful,  for  which  services 
we  were  each  to  receive  six  dollars  a  week.  It  was 
understood  that  this  employment  was  given  to  us 
as  a  charity ;  but  when  I  consider  the  numerous 
duties  imposed  upon  us,  and  the  small  sum  we 
received,  my  conscience  acquits  me  of  our  being 
anything  like  an  incubus  upon  the  theater,  and  if 
there  was  any  charity  in  the  matter,  I  think  it  was 
on  our  side. 

One  of  the  programmes,  I  find,  announces  that 
after  the  play  Master  and  Miss  Jefferson  were  to 
"execute  a  fancy  dance."  Now,  as  our  terpsich- 
orean  education  had  been  rather  limited,  it  is  quite 
likely  that  the  execution  was  complete. 

It  was  soon  apparent  that  our  charity  salary 
was  not  enough  to  support  us,  so  my  mother  cast 
about  for  some  means  of  increasing  our  income. 
She  had  no  heart  for  acting  now,  and  decided  to 
open  a  boarding-house  for  the  actors.  From  lead- 
ing lady  to  landlady  was  rather  a  come-down  for 
her;  but  my  mother  was  a  brave  woman  and  en- 
dowed with  the  kind  of  pride  that  preferred  the 
"  degradation  "  of  earning  an  honest  living  to  the 
more  elegant  profession  of  getting  in  debt.  A  house 
had  to  be  taken,  a  month's  rent  paid  in  advance, 
and  furniture  hired  to  fit  up  the  establishment  — 
but  where  was  the  money  to  come  from? 

It  is  said  that  in  France,  when  the  Government 
made  a  call  on  the  people  for  a  loan  to  pay  off  the 
war  indemnity,  thousands  of  patriotic  Frenchwomen 
stood  in  line,  a  mile  in  length,  at  the  Treasury,  each 
bearing  a  long  worsted  stocking  filled  with  gold, 


38  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

ready  to  assist  their  native  land  in  its  great  finan- 
cial emergency;  and  I  am  told  that  in  Louisiana 
this  domestic  bank  is  used  by  many  of  the  French 
inhabitants  as  a  receptacle  for  both  small  and  large 
hoardings.  My  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman,  at 
least  by  inheritance,  and  I  have  no  doubt  came 
honestly  by  this  national  characteristic ;  for  when 
matters  were  in  a  desperate  condition  the  dear 
lady  would  mysteriously  draw  forth  a  long,  dark- 
blue  worsted  stocking  in  which  there  was  always 
"just  one  little  gold  piece  left." 

Unfortunately  for  my  mother's  venture,  the 
theatrical  season  —  following  in  the  wake  of  all 
others  I  had  as  yet  been  familiar  with  —  was  a 
failure.  Naturally  the  settlement  of  the  board 
bills  was  consequent  upon  the  payment  of  the 
salaries ;  and  as  the  latter  occurrence  was  fitful 
and  uncertain,  the  bills  of  my  mother's  landlord 
and  butcher  were  both  subjected  to  the  same 
intermittent  conditions. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write  there  lived  in  Mo- 
bile a  talented  and  beautiful  lady  by  the  name  of 
Madame  Le  Vert.  She  was  the  belle  of  the  city 
and  courted  by  the  first  in  the  land ;  her  brilliancy 
and  wit  had  placed  her  in  the  center  of  a  rich  set- 
ting, of  which  she  was  the  shining  jewel.  Added  to 
her  worth  and  elegance  was  a  kind  and  beneficent 
nature,  always  seeking  new  objects  to  bestow  its 
bounty  upon.  She  was,  moreover,  a  patroness  of 
art  and  literature ;  nothing  was  too  high  for  her 
understanding,  or  too  lowly  for  her  kind  considera- 
tion. I  think  all  who  remember  this  fascinating 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  39 

woman  will  indorse  my  description  of  her  character. 
It  is  natural  that  I  should  have  a  grateful  remem- 
brance of  this  lady,  as  what  I  shall  relate  will 
show. 

My  father's  death  and  the  failure  of  the  boarding- 
house  had  attracted  Madame  Le  Vert's  attention. 
She  called  on  my  mother,  and  hinted  in  the  most 
delicate  manner  that  as  the  season  was  about  closed 
she  would  like  to  get  up  a  complimentary  benefit 
at  the  theater  for  her  children  (though  I  think  the 
widow  was  uppermost  in  Madame  Le  Vert's  mind). 
Now,  as  the  "stocking"  was  on  the  eve  of  sus- 
pension, my  mother  readily  consented  ;  so  the  belle 
of  Mobile  aroused  the  enthusiasm  of  her  many 
friends,  the  public  caught  fire,  and  the  benefit  was 
a  success. 

In  after  years  I  remember  to  have  seen  Madame 
Le  Vert  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  callers,  enter- 
taining them  with  wonderful  grace  and  tact,  always 
saying  the  right  things  to  the  right  persons,  and  at 
the  proper  time — a  genius  of  society.  But  there 
came  a  day  when  this  noble  lady  and  her  family 
were  reduced  in  fortune ;  she  whom  I  as  a  boy  had 
known  young  and  beautiful,  surrounded  by  wealth 
and  friends,  was  now  an  old  lady  in  the  unhappy 
condition  of  "genteel  poverty."  I  am  proud  to 
say  we  were  friends  to  the  last. 

During  the  war,  or  at  its  close,  Madame  Le  Vert 
had  made  some  enemies.  It  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  a  person  of  her  prominence  and  ability 
to  have  done  otherwise.  I  am  not  sure  now  which 
cause  she  espoused,  and,  in  her  case,  I  do  not  care. 


40  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Her  long  and  useful  life  has  passed  peacefully 
away,  and  her  memory  is  honored  by  all  who 
knew  her. 

And  now  we  lost  poor,  dear  old  Mary.  It  is 
perhaps  vain  for  me  to  hope  that  I  can  interest  the 
reader  in  any  one  of  whom  he  knows  so  little ;  but 
how  can  I,  her  foster-son,  who  owe  so  much  to  her 
loving  care,  pass  by  her  death  without  some  tribute 
of  affection  ?  After  sixteen  years  of  disinterested 
domestic  loyalty,  attending  us  as  friend,  servant, 
and  dear  companion,  this  faithful  creature  died  in 
my  mother's  arms.  Who  can  say  how  high  such  a 
pure  and  loving  spirit  soars  when  it  is  released  and 
takes  its  flight  ? 

James  Wallack,  Sr.,  played  an  engagement  in 
Mobile,  and  one  little  circumstance  occurred  in 
connection  with  it  that  I  have  always  remembered 
most  pleasantly.  He  was  an  actor  at  the  head  of 
his  profession  and  in  the  height  of  his  fame.  I 
was  only  a  boy  holding  a  subordinate  position  in 
the  theater.  He  heard  some  one  call  me  by  name 
at  the  rehearsal,  and,  turning  around,  asked  me  if 
I  was  related  to  Joseph  Jefferson  of  the  Chestnut 
Street  Theater.  I  told  him  that  I  was  a  grandson 
of  that  gentleman.  He  said,  "  Let  me  shake  you 
by  the  hand  for  the  sake  of  my  dear  old  friend." 
The  remark  was  made  with  much  feeling,  and  the 
remembrance  of  it  has,  I  think,  often  prompted  me 
to  do  the  like  for  others.  James  Wallack,  Sr.,  was 
an  actor  of  rare  attainments ;  as  a  legitimate  tra- 
gedian and  comedian  he  ranked  very  high.  The 
parts  that  I  remember  him  in  are  those  of  Ales- 


OF  TH1E  THEATB.E 


PORTRAIT    OF    JAMES     WAI.LACK. 


OF   JOSEPH   JEFFERSON  41 

sandro  Mazzaroni,  in  "  The  Brigand,"  and  Don 
Ccesar  de  Bazan. 

Mr.  Macready  and  the  elder  Booth  both  acted  in 
Mobile  during  this  season ;  and  as  the  contrast  be- 
tween these  tragedians  was  quite  remarkable,  I 
will  introduce  them  here,  although  my  judgment 
of  them  was  formed  upon  a  later  experience. 

The  methods  by  which  actors  arrive  at  great 
effects  vary  according  to  their  own  natures ;  this 
renders  the  teaching  of  the  art  by  any  strictly 
defined  lines  a  difficult  matter.  Macready  and 
the  elder  Booth  offer  striking  examples  of  these 
distinctions.  Macready  depended  upon  the  me- 
chanical arrangement  of  the  scene,  while  Booth 
relied  almost  entirely  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  caring  little  for  set  rules.  As  soon  as 
Macready  entered  the  theater  he  began  to  assume 
the  character  he  was  going  to  enact.  He  would 
remain  in  his  dressing-room  absorbed  with  the 
play ;  no  one  was  permitted  to  enter ;  his  dresser 
was  not  allowed  to  speak  to  him,  but  stood  outside 
ready  to  open  the  door  just  before  it  was  time  for 
the  actor  to  go  upon  the  stage.  If  the  mechanism 
of  the  play  remained  intact,  he  became  lost  in  his 
character  and  produced  grand  effects,  but  if  by 
some  carelessness  he  was  recalled  to  himself,  the 
chain  was  broken  and  he  could  not  reunite  it.  He 
now  realized  that  his  acting  would  be  tame,  and 
then  his  rage  knew  no  bounds ;  he  would  seize  the 
unlucky  actor  who  had  "  ruined  him,"  shake  him, 
throw  him  aside,  and  rushing  to  his  dressing-room 
fall  exhausted  upon  the  sofa.  This  was  not  affec- 


42  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

tation,  it  was  real ;  he  could  not  conquer  his  unfor- 
tunate temper.  In  my  youthful  days  it  was  the 
fashion  of  thoughtless  actors  to  ridicule  these 
"  Macready  tantrums,"  and  I  regret  to  say  I  often 
joined  in  the  sport ;  but  as  I  look  back  on  his 
suffering  and  read  the  pages  wherein  he  chastises 
himself  for  his  ungovernable  temper,  and  when  I 
know  how  useful  and  benevolent  he  was  in  the 
closing  scenes  of  his  life,  I  feel  a  great  sympathy 
for  him.  "  He  poured  a  flagon  of  Rhenish  on  my 
head  once,"  but — I  forgive  him. 

I  acted  with  Macready  and  Booth  during  this 
season,  and  an  anecdote  of  each  will  serve  to 
illustrate  their  different  characteristics.  Macready 
was  acting  Werner.  I  was  cast  for  a  minor  part 
In  one  scene  a  number  of  characters  had  to  rush 
off,  bearing  lighted  torches,  in  search  of  some 
delinquent.  At  rehearsal  the  tragedian  particularly 
requested  that  we  should  all  be  sure  and  make  our 
exit  at  night  at  just  the  same  time  and  place,  so 
that  we  might  not  disturb  the  arrangement  of  the 
scene.  All  went  well  up  to  the  time  for  making 
our  hurried  exit,  when  to  my  horror  I  found  Wer- 
ner standing  exactly  in  line  with  the  place  of 
my  exit  at  rehearsal.  I  presume  that  when  he 
gave  his  directions  in  the  morning  he  did  not 
observe  me.  What  was  I  to  do?  The  cue  was 
given,  and  there  was  no  time  for  argument.  I 
rushed  past  him,  torch  in  hand.  I  heard  his  well- 
known  groan;  but  as  I  flew  by  an  unmistakable 
odor  of  burnt  hair  filled  the  atmosphere,  and  I  knew 
that  I  had  singed  his  wig.  When  the  curtain  fell 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  43 

I  turned  in  horror  to  see  the  effect.  The  enraged 
Werner  had  torn  his  wig  from  his  head,  and  stood 
gazing  at  it  for  a  moment  in  helpless  wonder. 
Suddenly  he  made  a  rush  in  my  direction ;  I  saw 
he  was  on  the  war-path,  and  that  I  was  his  game. 
And  now  the  chase  began.  I  dodged  him  up  and 
down  the  stage ;  then  around  the  wings  and  over 
"set"  rocks  and  gauze  waters.  He  never  would 
have  caught  me  but  that  in  my  excitement  I  ran 
head  first  into  the  stomach  of  a  fat  stage-carpenter. 
Here  I  was  seized.  The  enraged  Macready  was  so 
full  of  anger  and  so  out  of  breath  that  he  could  only 
gasp  and  shake  his  burnt  wig  at  me.  Of  course  I 
was  disgraced  and  not  allowed  to  act  again  during 
his  engagement.  To  make  matters  worse  the  whole 
affair  got  into  the  papers,  and  the  next  morning  one 
of  the  critics  remarked  that  he  had  never  seen  Ma- 
cready act  with  so  much  fire  !  Now  all  of  this  could 
have  been  avoided  if  he  had  but  moved  six  inches 
further  up  the  stage  when  he  saw  me  coming ;  but 
no,  he  had  never  shifted  from  that  spot  before,  why 
should  he  do  so  now?  I  believe  if  I  had  singed  his 
very  eyebrows  he  would  have  stood  his  ground. 

Booth's  whole  nature  was  the  reverse  of  Ma- 
cready's.  He  would  saunter  into  the  theater  just 
a  few  minutes  before  the  play  began ;  robe  himself, 
sometimes  quite  carelessly  ;  converse  freely  upon 
local  matters  in  a  plain,  practical  way,  or  per- 
haps give  some  reminiscence  of  bygone  years, — 
his  memory  was  wonderful, — ending  with  an  amus- 
ing anecdote,  and  in  the  next  moment  walk  upon 
the  stage  in  the  full  assumption  of  his  character, 


44  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

overawing  the  audience  by  the  fire  of  his  acting. 
The  following  incident  will  serve  to  show  the  won- 
derful manner  in  which  Booth  could  drop  his  char- 
acter and  instantly  resume  it. 

I  was  acting  Sampson  in  "The  Iron  Chest"  to 
his  Sir  Edward  Mortimer.  During  the  play  he 
spoke  to  me  of  my  grandfather's  playing  the  same 
part  with  him  when  he  (Booth)  was  a  young  man. 
"  He  used,"  said  he,  "  to  sing  the  original  song ; 
it  ran  thus " ;  and  assuming  a*  comical  expression 
he  began  to  sing  in  an  undertone : 

A  traveler  stopped  at  a  widow's  gate. 

At  this  moment  his  cue  was  given,  and  he  rushed 
upon  the  stage,  discovering  Wilford  at  the  chest. 
The  scene  is  here  very  powerful,  and  I  never  saw 
him  act  it  with  more  power.  The  audience  was 
most  enthusiastic,  and  as  he  rushed  from  the  stage 
amid  a  storm  of  applause  he  met  me  at  the  wing, 
and,  reassuming  the  comic  expression  of  his  face, 
began  the  song  just  where  he  had  left  off,  while  the 
approbation  of  the  audience  was  still  ringing  in 
his  ears. 

It  must  not  be  understood  by  this  that  Booth 
never  became  absorbed  in  his  character ;  on  the 
contrary,  he  sometimes  carried  his  intensity  in 
this  respect  to  an  extreme.  It  is  only  meant  to 
show  that  he  had  also  the  power  of  dropping  his 
character  in  the  midst  of  his  concentration,  resum- 
ing it  again  at  will.  Macready  had  no  such  faculty 
whatever.  The  beam  once  kicked,  the  balance  was 
destroyed  beyond  recovery. 


MACREADY    AS    "  WILLIAM    TELL. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  45 

In  his  private  character  Mr.  Booth  was  simple, 
unostentatious,  and  benevolent.  I  know  of  an 
instance  of  a  curious  and  somewhat  eccentric  kind- 
ness that  occurred  many  years  ago  in  Baltimore. 

An  old  and  retired  actor  and  manager  had  been 
ill  for  some  time,  and  as  he  was  held  in  high  esteem 
his  friends  arranged  for  him  a  complimentary  testi- 
monial at  the  Holliday  Street  Theater.  Mr.  Booth 
was  at  that  time  manager  of  another  theater,  and, 
unsolicited,  tendered  a  benefit  at  his  establishment 
to  the  same  gentleman.  The  house  was  crowded, 
Booth  himself  acting.  After  the  performance  he 
went  to  the  box-office,  collected  the  entire  receipts, 
and,  late  as  it  was,  took  them  to  the  house  of  the 
beneficiary,  and  spreading  the  money  out  on  the 
table  said  to  him,  "  There  is  your  share." 

"  But  will  you  not  deduct  the  expenses  ?  "  said 
his  old  friend. 

"The  only  expense  incurred,"  said  Booth,  "has 
been  the  bringing  of  the  money  to  you ;  but,  as  I 
walked,  the  cost  is  merely  shoe-leather,  and  I  will 
not  charge  for  that."  So  saying  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  the  room  before  he  could  be  thanked. 

From  Mobile  we  went  to  Nashville,  Tennessee, 
and  after  a  short  season  traveled  through  the  State. 
Business  was  bad,  and  on  one  occasion  the  gentle 
men  of  the  company,  myself  included,  walked  from 
Gallatin  to  Lebanon  —  not,  however,  for  the  exer- 
cise. 

Upon  our  return  to  Nashville  it  was  time  to 
think  of  going  South,  as  most  of  the  company  had 
engagements  in  New  Orleans,  Mobile,  and  Texas, 


46  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

but  the  Cumberland  River  had  fallen  so  low  that 
no  steamboat  could  navigate  it.  In  this  dilemma 
there  was  but  one  course  left:  the  company  must 
come  together,  buy  a  barge,  fit  up  a  cabin,  caboose, 
and  sleeping-apartments.  This  was  done.  Where 
the  money  came  from  to  pay  for  the  boat  and  the 
lumber  I  cannot  tell,  but  this  floating  camp  was  put 
together,  and  we  all  departed  down  the  river  in  the 
queerest  looking  craft  that  ever  carried  a  legitimate 
stock  company  of  the  old  school.  To  a  boy  of  my 
age  this  was  heaven.  To  stand  my  watch  at  night 
gave  me  that  manly  feeling  that  a  youngster,  just 
before  he  grows  his  beard,  enjoys  beyond  every- 
thing. 

We  stopped  at  Clarksville  and  gave  one  enter- 
tainment, playing  "The  Lady  of  Lyons."  I  acted 
Glavis.  This  was  another  manly  stride  for  me  ;  I 
was  getting  on.  The  whole  of  this  trip  was  to  me 
delightful.  It  was  in  that  rich  and  mellow  season 
when  the  foliage  seems  to  change  from  day  to  day. 
The  river  was  full  of  ducks,  which  I  could  some- 
times shoot  from  the  deck  of  the  flatboat;  great 
flocks  of  wild  pigeons  filled  the  air  for  days  to- 
gether, so  that  I  could  supply  our  table  well  with 
game.  There  was  a  small  set  of  scenery  on  board 
that  had  been  brought  in  case  of  an  emergency. 
We  had  used  it  only  in  Clarksville  so  far,  but  now 
the  time  came  when  it  could  be  displayed  and  util- 
ized in  a  manner  "  never  before  attempted  in  the 
annals  of  the  stage."  When  we  reached  the 
Ohio  the  river  widened  out,  and  some  stretches 
were  from  five  to  six  miles  in  length ;  so,  if  we  had 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  47 

a  fair  wind  blowing  downstream,  by  hoisting  one 
of  the  scenes  for  a  sail  we  could  increase  our  speed 
from  two  to  three  miles  an  hour.  A  hickory  pole 
was  cut  from  the  shore,  and  a  drop-scene,  with  a 
wood  painted  on  one  side  and  a  palace  on  the 
other,  was  unfurled  to  the  breeze.  The  wonder- 
stricken  farmers  and  their  wives  and  children  would 
run  out  of  their  log-cabins  and,  standing  on  the 
river  bank,  gaze  with  amazement  at  our  curious 
craft.  It  was  delightful  to  watch  the  steamboats 
as  they  went  by.  The  passengers  would  crowd 
the  deck  and  look  with  wonder  at  us.  For  a  bit 
of  sport  the  captain  and  I  would  vary  the  picture, 
and  as  a  boat  steamed  past  we  would  first  show 
them  the  wood  scene,  and  then  suddenly  swing 
the  sail  around,  exhibiting  the  gorgeous  palace. 
Adding  to  this  sport,  our  leading  man  and  the  low 
comedian  would  sometimes  get  a  couple  of  old- 
fashioned  broadswords  and  fight  a  melodramatic 
combat  on  the  deck.  There  is  no  doubt  that  at 
times  our  barge  was  taken  for  a  floating  lunatic 
asylum. 

We  would  often  tie  up  the  boat  for  a  day  and 
go  fishing  in  some  lake  in  the  interior,  stopping 
perhaps  at  a  farm-house  to  replenish  our  stock  of 
butter  and  eggs.  Our  voyage  was  continued  to 
Cairo,  where  the  Ohio  River  joins  the  Mississippi, 
and  so  on  until  we  reached  Memphis ;  here  we 
deserted  the  barge  and  took  a  steamboat  for  New 
Orleans. 

This  season  I  acted  at  the  St.  Charles,  under 
the  management  of  Ludlow  &  Smith.  Mr.  and 


48  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Mrs.  Charles  Kean,  Mrs.  Anna  Cora  Mowatt,  and 
James  H.  Hackett  were  among  the  stars.  At  the 
end  of  the  season  —  which  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  a  very  eventful  one  —  our  company,  under 
the  same  management,  traveled  up  the  Mississippi 
River  to  St.  Louis,  acting  there  during  the  summer. 
The  only  occurrence  worth  noting  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned  happened  on  the  night  of  the  Fourth  of 
July,  when  the  company  was  called  on  by  the 
management  to  sing  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner." 
I  was  in  a  feverish  state  of  excitement  all  day, 
having  been  selected  to  give  the  first  stanza.  I 
had  studied  it  and  restudied  it  so  often  that  I  knew 
it  backwards ;  and  that  is  about  the  way  I  sung  it. 
But  I  must  not  anticipate.  The  curtain  rose  upon 
the  company  partly  attired  in  evening  dress ;  that 
is  to  say,  those  who  had  swallow-tail  coats  wore 
them,  and  those  who  were  not  blessed  with  that 
graceful  garment  did  the  best  they  could.  We 
were  arranged  in  the  old  conventional  half-circle, 
with  the  "  Goddess  of  Liberty  "  in  the  center.  The 
"  Mother  of  her  Country  "  had  a  Roman  helmet — 
pasteboard,  I  am  afraid — on  her  head,  and  was 
tastefully  draped  with  the  American  flag.  My 
heart  was  in  my  mouth  as  the  music  started  up, 
but  I  stepped  boldly  forward  to  begin.  I  got  as 
far  as  "  Oh,  say,  can  you  see  — "  and  here  the  words 
left  me.  My  mind  was  blank.  I  tried  it  again : 
"Oh,  say,  can  you  see — "  Whether  they  could 
see  or  not,  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  could  not.  I  was 
blind  with  fright ;  the  house  swam  before  my  eyes  ; 
the  thousand  faces  seemed  to  melt  into  one  huge, 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  49 

expressionless  physiognomy.  The  audience  be- 
gan to  hiss  —  oh,  that  dreadful  sound  !  I  love  my 
country,  and  am,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
fairly  patriotic;  but  at  that  moment  I  cursed  our 
national  anthem  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I 
heard  the  gentle  voice  of  the  Goddess  of  Liberty 
say,  "Poor  fellow!"  The  remark  was  kind,  but 
not  encouraging.  The  hissing  increased.  Old 
Muller,  the  German  leader,  called  out  to  me,  "  Go 
on,  Yo!"  But  "Yo"  could  n't  go  on,  so  "Yo" 
thought  he  had  better  go  off.  I  bowed,  therefore, 
to  the  justice  of  this  public  rebuke,  and  made  a 
graceful  retreat.  My  poor  mother  stood  at  the 
wings  in  tears ;  I  threw  myself  into  her  arms,  and 
we  had  it  out  together. 

Of  course  I  intend  this  anecdote  to  illustrate  one 
of  my  early  professional  distresses,  but  it  has 
another  and  a  more  important  side  to  it.  The 
hissing  and  jeering  that  were  so  liberally  bestowed 
upon  me  will  never  be  vented  again  in  this  country 
for  so  slight  an  offense.  The  well-dressed,  deco- 
rous audience  of  to-day,  when  an  accident  occurs, 
sit  quietly,  bearing  it  with  patience  and  considera- 
tion, and  when  it  is  righted  they  break  forth  in 
encouraging  applause.  Look  at  the  decorum 
observed  by  the  vast  assemblages  that  go  to  wit- 
ness our  national  games.  Disturbances  are  very 
rare.  It  would  have  been  doubtful,  if  not  dan- 
gerous, when  I  was  a  boy,  for  ladies  and  gentle- 
men to  visit  any  public  grounds  containing  such 
large  masses  of  people,  whereas  now  they  can  do 
so  with  perfect  safety.  What  lies  at  the  foundation 


50  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

of  this  improvement?  People  went  to  church  in 
those  days  as  readily  as  they  do  now,  and  the  laws 
were  administered  quite  as  rigidly.  There  is  only 
one  solution  to  this  problem  —  the  free  school  has 
done  this  work. 


CHAPTER  III 

BARN-STORMING  AND   MEXICAN    EPISODE 

Barn- storming  in  Mississippi — Pudding  Stanley 
— In  Mexico — Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  W.  Wallack, 
Jr. — John  E.  Owens 

IT  is  to  be  hoped  for  the  credit  of  humanity  that 
the  philosopher  was  in  error  when  he  said 
that  we  feel  a  sad  gratification  even  in  the  dis- 
tress of  our  dearest  friends.  But,  be  that  as  it  may, 
it  is  quite  certain  that  those  of  our  fellow-creatures 
whose  lives  have  been  burdened  with  sorrow  com- 
mand our  respect  and  excite  our  interest  more  than 
the  high  and  mighty.  Belisarius,  stricken  blind, 
wandering  a  beggar  in  tattered  rags,  and  asking 
alms  of  the  people  he  once  led  to  victory,  presents 
a  figure  that  calls  for  our  deepest  sympathy ;  while 
we  cannot  shed  tears  over  a  dethroned  monarch 
with  a  corner  lot.  By  these  reflections  I  am 
strengthened  in  the  hope  that  I  may  not  be  tiring 
my  reader  with  the  continuous  recital  of  our  mis- 
fortunes, and  that  he  will  not  grow  as  weary  of 

5* 


52  T^E    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

them  as  we  did.  If  he  will  but  patiently  wade  a 
little  farther  through  this  "  slough  of  despond,"  I 
promise  in  the  latter  part  of  my  narrative  to  give 
some  account  of  my  less  interesting  success. 

Our  disastrous  seasons  were  not  exceptions. 
The  country  had  been  in  a  chronic  state  of  the- 
atrical bankruptcy  since  the  panic  of  1837,  and 
continued  in  it  for  many  years.  Actors  often  had 
to  turn  their  hands  to  something  else  for  a  liveli- 
hood besides  the  profession.  My  father  painted 
signs  for  a  whole  summer  in  Vicksburg,  and  our 
leading  man  manufactured  genuine  Havana  cigars 
in  the  same  studio.  I  often  acted  as  "drummer," 
and  when  business  was  slow,  would  sally  forth 
among  the  wharf  boats  to  solicit  orders. 

It  is  likely  that  some  of  the  events  I  have  re- 
corded may  not  have  followed  in  the  order  in 
which  I  have  placed  them,  but  I  do  not  feel  that 
this  is  of  much  importance.  Accurate  statistics, 
with  dates,  long  rows  of  figures,  and  unimportant 
casts  of  plays,  are  somewhat  tedious.  Tony  Lump- 
kin  says,  with  undoubted  truth,  that  "the  inside  of 
a  letter  contains  the  cream  of  the  correspondence." 
I  must  therefore  crave  your  Honor's  pardon  for  act- 
ing on  this  hint  by  endeavoring  to  trace  the  inter- 
esting portion  of  this  history, — if  it  has  any  interest, 
— casting  unimportant  details  into  oblivion. 

Mary's  death  reduced  our  quartet  to  a  trio,  and 
I  next  found  myself  in  the  town  of  Grand  Gulf,  in 
the  State  of  Mississippi,  with  my  mother  and  sis- 
ter. We  were  there  awaiting  the  arrival  of  my 
half-brother,  Charles  Burke,  who  was  somewhere 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  53 

in  the  interior  of  the  State,  with  a  small  company 
of  actors,  struggling  along  from  town  to  town. 
Our  letters  to  him  had  crossed  or  miscarried ;  so 
we  were  obliged  to  remain  there  for  several  weeks 
until  we  could  hunt  him  up.  There  was  no  tele- 
graph in  those  days,  and  postal  communication 
was  uncertain. 

The  money  had  run  out,  and  we  were  in  a  strait- 
ened condition,  when,  to  our  joy,  my  brother  arrived. 
He  burst  like  a  ray  of  sunshine  into  the  house,  and 
we  crowded  about  the  dear  fellow,  smothering  him 
with  tears  and  kisses.  It  seems  that  his  company 
was  at  Port  Gibson,  only  eight  miles  away,  where 
they  had  arrived  the  night  before,  and  he  had 
started  at  daylight,  walking  to  Grand  Gulf  to 
meet  us.  After  breakfast  he  went  out  for  the 
purpose  of  hiring  a  wagon  and  team  to  take  us 
on.  This  was  soon  done,  and  we  started  on  our 
journey.  We  had  got  but  four  miles  from  the  town 
when  I  observed  my  brother  and  the  driver  in  close 
conversation.  I  saw  that  something  was  wrong. 
Presently  the  driver  pulled  up,  and  the  wagon 
stopped.  My  brother  turned  round  and  said : 
"  Mother,  I  have  made  a  bargain  with  this  man 
to  take  us  to  Port  Gibson  for  ten  dollars.  I  have 
no  money,  and  expected  to  pay  him  out  of  to- 
night's receipts  after  the  play.  He  says  this 
arrangement  will  not  do  for  him ;  he  seems  un- 
willing to  trust  me,  so  he  must  be  paid  now  or 
he  will  turn  back."  I  looked  at  my  mother  and 
hinted  that  perhaps,  if  she  searched  hard,  some- 
thing might  be  found  in  the  stocking.  Her  eyes 


54  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

filled  with  tears,  and  I  saw  by  her  face  that  the 
bank  was  broken.  There  was  nothing  left  us  but 
to  get  out  of  the  wagon  and  remain  by  the  road- 
side until  my  brother  should  go  back  and  make 
another  trial.  The  rain  came  down,  and  we  took 
shelter  under  a  large  tree,  awaiting  his  return. 
My  mother  had  once  been  one  of  the  most  attrac- 
tive stars  in  America,  the  leading  prima  donna  of 
the  country,  and  now,  from  no  fault  of  her  own, 
was  reduced  to  the  humiliation  of  being  put  out  of 
a  wagon  with  her  two  children,  in  a  lonely  road  in 
the  far-off  State  of  Mississippi,  because  she  could 
not  pay  a  wagoner  the  sum  of  ten  dollars. 

This  was  so  far  the  darkest  hour  we  had  passed. 
About  noon  the  sun  shone  bright,  and  shortly  after- 
wards my  brother  appeared  in  sight,  mounted  on 
top  of  an  ox-cart  driven  by  an  old  negro.  We 
were  only  four  miles  from  Port  Gibson,  but  it 
required  as  many  hours  to  make  the  journey,  so 
about  sundown  our  party  alighted  at  the  hotel. 

We  now  entered  upon  a  course  of  the  most 
primitive  acting,  going  from  town  to  town  and 
giving  entertainments  in  the  dining-rooms  of  the 
hotels.  As  there  were  no  papers  published  in 
these  small  villages,  there  were  no  printing-offices, 
consequently  no  bills;  so  flaming  announcements 
of  our  arrival  in  a  bold  handwriting  were  displayed 
in  the  three  important  points  of  the  town,  viz. :  the 
hotel,  the  post-office,  and  the  barber-shop.  It  fell 
to  my  duty,  being  an  adept  with  the  brush,  to 
write,  or  rather  paint,  these  advertisements.  The 
plays  were  acted  in  costume,  but  without  scenery 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  55 

or  curtain.  The  nightly  receipts  were  small — just 
about  enough  to  get  us  from  place  to  place. 

Our  objective  point  was  the  town  of  Liberty, 
Mississippi ;  but  there  was  some  difficulty  in  get- 
ting there,  as  the  distance  was  greater  than  we 
could  accomplish  in  a  day.  A  farmer  who  had 
been  to  the  theater  the  night  before  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  was  so  struck  by  the  performance 
that  he  proposed  to  have  his  teams  brought  in 
and  take  us  to  his  farm-house,  about  twenty- five 
miles  distant.  According  to  his  suggestion  we 
were  to  rest  for  a  day,  give  an  entertainment  in 
his  barn,  and  so  go  on  to  Liberty. 

"  But,"  said  my  brother,  "  you  tell  me  there  is  no 
other  house  there  but  your  own.  What  shall  we  do 
for  an  audience?" 

"Well,"  said  the  farmer,  "all  my  family  will 
come,  to  begin  with,  and  there  's  a  dozen  or  more 
on  'em ;  then  there  's  eight  or  ten  farm-houses 
close  by,  and  if  one  of  your  men  will  drive  there 
with  my  son  and  blow  the  horn  they  will  all  come, 
for  there  ain't  one  on  'em  ever  seen  a  play  before. 
I  '11  insure  you  a  full  barn." 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  and  we  actually 
played  in  a  barn,  the  house  that  we  staid  in  being 
the  only  one  in  sight.  It  seemed  in  vain  to  look 
for  an  audience  in  such  a  lonely  place,  but  the 
farmer  was  right.  Soon  after  the  sun  had  gone 
down  the  full  harvest  moon  rose,  and  by  its  dim 
light  we  could  faintly  see  family  groups  of  people, 
two  and  sometimes  three  on  a  horse,  coming  from 
all  directions  over  the  hill — now  a  wagon  with  a 


56  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

great  load.  Some  of  them  walked,  but  all  were 
quiet  and  serious,  and  apparently  wondering  what 
they  were  going  to  see. 

Those  who  have  traveled  through  the  Southern 
States  will  perhaps  remember  the  kind  of  barn  we 
acted  in :  there  were  two  log-houses  joined  to- 
gether with  an  opening  between  them  which  was 
floored  and  covered  in.  The  seats  were  arranged 
outside  in  the  open  air — benches,  chairs,  and  logs. 
The  double  barn  on  each  side  was  used  for  dress- 
ing-rooms and  for  making  entrances  and  exits, 
while  the  opening  was  devoted  to  the  stage.  The 
open  air  was  well  filled,  containing  an  audience 
of  about  sixty  persons.  Our  enthusiastic  admirer, 
the  farmer,  collected  the  admission  fee,  a  dollar 
being  charged  and  freely  given.  The  plays  were 
"The  Lady  of  Lyons"  and  "The  Spectre  Bride- 
groom." The  farmer  had  supplied  us  liberally 
with  candles,  so  that  the  early  part  of  the  enter- 
tainment was  brilliantly  illuminated,  but  the  even- 
ing breeze  had  fanned  the  lights  so  fiercely  that 
by  the  time  the  farce  began  the  footlights  were 
gone.  The  little  "  flaming  ministers "  had  all 
sputtered  out,  so  "The  Spectre  Bridegroom"  was 
acted  in  the  moonlight. 

It  was  curious  to  watch  the  effect  of  a  strong 
emotional  play  like  ."The  Lady  of  Lyons"  upon 
an  audience  that  had  never  seen  a  drama  before : 
they  not  only  were  much  interested,  but  they 
became  excited  over  the  trials  of  the  hero  and 
heroine ;  they  talked  freely  among  themselves, 
and,  at  times,  to  the  actors.  One  old  lady  insisted 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  57 

that  the  lovers  should  be  "  allowed  their  own  way," 
and  a  stalwart  young  farmer  warned  the  villain 
not  to  interfere  again  "if  he  knew  what  was  best 
for  him." 

We  continued  traveling  through  the  State  of 
Mississippi,  sometimes  in  wagons  or  on  a  stray 
stern-wheel  steamer  that  was  hailed  from  the 
bank  of  some  little  village  where  we  had  acted. 
As  the  spring  opened  the  rainy  season  set  in,  and 
the  roads  became  almost  impassable.  Fortunately 
at  this  time  my  mother  received  an  offer  for  us  to 
join  the  new  theater  in  Galveston,  to  which  place 
we  proceeded,  my  brother  and  his  wife  going 
North  to  act  under  Mr.  Burton's  management  at 
the  Arch  Street  Theater,  Philadelphia. 

At  the  termination  of  our  Galveston  season  the 
company  embarked  on  board  a  small  stern-wheel 
steamer  that  wound  its  way  through  a  narrow, 
crooked  stream  and  landed  us  at  the  city  of  Hous- 
ton. I  say  the  company,  but  it  was  only  a  remnant 
of  it,  as  most  of  its  members,  being  weary  of  the 
hot  weather  and  despairing  of  any  more  regular 
salary  days,  had  returned  to  the  North.  We  acted 
for  several  weeks  in  Houston,  but  with  a  feeble 
kind  of  patronage  that  just  enabled  us  to  keep  our 
heads  above  water ;  still,  the  ever-hopeful  disposi- 
tion of  the  itinerant  actor  buoyed  us  up,  and  we 
struggled  on  in  the  anticipation  of  a  reaction. 

We  had  by  this  time  resolved  ourselves  into 
what  was  called  a  "  sharing  scheme,"  dividing 
the  profits,  when  there  were  any,  pro  rata  with 
our  salaries.  First  the  board  was  paid  for,  then  the 


58  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


rent,  then  the  printing,  then  the  orchestra  —  the 
latter  always  ready  to  strike  at  a  bar's  notice  ; 
the  rest  we  shared.  These  uncertain  dividends 
were  looked  forward  to  with  much  interest,  for 
home  was  far  away  and  difficult  to  reach. 

As  the  season  approached  its  close  and  the  dis- 
banding of  our  company  was  under  discussion,  a 
new  sensation  occurred  in  the  arrival  of  an  old 
actor  and  ex-theatrical  manager  by  the  name  of 
Stanley.  This  remnant  of  an  earlier  era  had  been 
upon  the  retired  list  for  many  years,  and  now 
suddenly  burst  upon  us  with  enticing  schemes  to 
better  our  condition.  I  had  never  seen  him  before, 
but  several  of  our  company  knew  and  recognized 
him  as  a  veteran  barn-stormer  of  the  olden  time. 
He  had  been  living  in  San  Antonio  for  many 
years,  and  having  heard  that  a  company  of  play- 
ers were  at  Houston  the  slumbering  old  war-horse 
within  him  was  awakened,  and  disdaining  the  dan- 
gers of  a  long  journey  through  the  chaparral,  — 
for  the  country  was  at  this  time  full  of  hostile 
Indians,  —  he  had  ridden  three  hundred  miles  in 
the  wild  enthusiasm  of  an  old  manager-actor, 
thirsting  for  the  revival  of  three-sheet  posters  and 
a  high  stool  opposite  that  fascinating  spot,  the 
pigeon-hole  of  the  box-office.  Naturally,  in  the 
first  flush  of  his  arrival,  laden  as  he  was  with  flat- 
tering promises  of  double  salaries  and  clear  third 
benefits,  we  were  in  a  delightful  flutter  of  anticipa- 
tion. His  accounts  of  San  Antonio  and  the  sur- 
rounding country  were  dazzling.  There  had  been 
no  dramatic  entertainment  ever  given  there,  the 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  59 

gold  mines  of  Mexico  were  close  at  hand,  and,  in 
short,  it  seemed  quite  clear  that  our  fortunes  would 
be  made  if  we  concluded  to  embrace  his  offer.  He 
further  informed  us  that  he  was  well  known  all 
through  Texas,  and  that  his  popularity  was  second 
only  to  that  of  the  late  Davy  Crockett ;  that,  under 
the  very  "  shadow  of  the  Alamo,"  as  he  poetically 
expressed  it,  he  kept  a  bar-room  in  conjunction 
with  a  fandango,  a  keno-table,  and  a  faro-bank  — 
by  which  means  it  seems  he  had  endeavored  to 
refine  the  depraved  tastes  of  the  citizens.  Mr. 
Stanley's  figure  was  portly,  so  that  his  friends,  in 
order  to  distinguish  him  from  the  other  and  less 
important  Stanleys  in  town,  bestowed  upon  him 
the  title  of  "  Pudding  Stanley,"  or  "  Pud,"  as  he 
was  more  briefly  and  affectionately  called. 

As  I  have  said,  we  were  at  first  overwhelmed 
with  his  amazing  description  of  our  future  Eldo- 
rado, but  upon  holding  council  to  consider  the 
situation  dispassionately  our  ardor  cooled.  First 
came  the  dreaded  journey  of  three  hundred  miles 
through  a  wilderness  of  chaparral  inhabited  only 
by  jack-rabbits  and  hostile  Indians.  Our  leading 
actor  remarked  that  he  did  not  mind  jack-rabbits, 
but  considered  the  Indians  an  impediment.  He  was 
a  courageous  man,  too — upon  the  stage.  I  had  seen 
him  play  the  Chief  Osceola,  and  scalp  one  "  super  " 
after  another  with  great  nerve ;  but  now  he  seemed 
to  think  with  King  Lear  that  "  Nature  's  above  art 
in  that  respect ";  and  while  he  reveled  in  being  the 
hero  of  an  artistic  assassination,  realistic  effects  of 
this  kind  were  not  to  be  thought  of. 


60  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Another  reason  for  our  not  relishing  the  proposal 
was  contained  in  the  recollection  of  a  really  serious 
matter  in  connection  with  actors  and  Indians  that 
had  occurred  in  Florida  during  the  Seminole  war. 
It  seems  that  a  manager  by  the  name  of  William 
C.  Forbes  had  taken  a  theatrical  company  into  the 
very  jaws  of  the  disturbance.  The  troupe  acted  at 
the  different  forts  and  garrisons  along  the  line  of 
battle,  and  on  a  certain  occasion,  while  going  from 
one  military  station  to  another  without  an  escort,  it 
was  attacked  and  roughly  handled  by  the  savages. 
Forbes  and  most  of  his  people  escaped,  but  two 
unfortunate  actors  were  captured  and  butchered. 
The  theatrical  wardrobe  belonging  to  the  company 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Indians,  who,  dressing 
themselves  up  as  Romans,  Highlanders,  and  Shak- 
sperean  heroes,  galloped  about  in  front  of  the  very 
fort,  though  well  out  of  gunshot,  where  Forbes  and 
the  more  fortunate  members  of  his  company  had 
fled  for  safety.  Several  of  the  Indians  were  after- 
wards taken,  and  as  they  were  robed  and  decked 
in  the  habiliments  of  Othello,  Hamlet,  and  a  host 
of  other  Shaksperean  characters, — for  Forbes  was 
eminently  legitimate, —  their  identity  as  the  mur- 
derers was  established,  and  they  were  hanged  in 
front  of  the  garrison. 

The  recollection  of  this  incident  acted  as  any- 
thing but  a  stimulus  to  our  wavering  courage,  and 
we  took  the  liberty  of  mentioning  to  the  ex-ranger 
that  it  was  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  the 
warlike  Comanches  of  Texas  might  have  no  more 
respect  for  the  legitimate  drama  than  the  Seminoles 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  61 

of  Florida,  in  which  case  history  would  inconve- 
niently repeat  itself. 

The  tempter  ridiculed  our  fears,  looking  upon 
us,  I  think,  with  a  ranger's  contempt.  He  said 
there  were  a  few  Indians  here  and  there  certainly, 
but  they  were  cowardly,  and  generally  kept  them- 
selves concealed  in  the  chaparral.  On  being  cross- 
questioned  as  to  why  they  concealed  themselves  in 
the  chaparral,  he  replied,  "  Well,  possibly  ambush  ; 
but  they  are  great  cowards."  He  said  the  safest 
plan  would  be  for  the  entire  party  to  keep  together ; 
going  all  in  one  wagon,  we  would  then  exhibit  "  the 
full  strength  of  the  company,"  and  well  armed  with 
such  theatrical  weapons  as  we  might  possess,  there 
would  be  no  danger.  Theatrical  weapons — just 
think  of  it !  The  armory  of  a  theater  in  those  days 
consisted  of  two  pairs  of  short  broadswords,  a  half- 
dozen  stuffed  sticks,  and  a  rusty  flint-lock  horse- 
pistol  that  always  snapped  once  and  generally 
twice  before  virtue  felt  itself  secure.  A  cold  shiver 
ran  down  my  back  as  I  imagined  myself  facing  a 
Comanche  with  a  weapon  whose  uncertainty  had 
on  more  than  one  occasion  compelled  the  heavy 
villain  to  commit  suicide  with  a  table-spoon. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  had  inwardly  resolved 
not  to  go,  and  I  think  the  entire  company  were  of 
my  mind.  Of  course  we  laid  it  all  on  the  leading 
man,  who  had  at  least  been  bold  enough  openly  to 
express  his  fear ;  but  we  decided  not  to  go ! 

Stanley  was  of  course  disappointed,  as  he  had 
looked  forward,  he  said,  not  only  to  the  renewal 
of  managerial  responsibility  and  importance,  but  to 


62  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

donning  again  the  sock  and  buskin  and  acting  with 
us.  Upon  this  hint  we  suggested  that  if  he  really 
desired  to  act  again,  and  would  appear  one  night 
in  Houston  for  our  benefit,  we  should  be  proud  to 
support  him.  If  Richard  III.  could  tempt  him  — 
we  knew  this  to  be  his  weak  point  —  it  was  at  his 
service.  Of  course  at  first  he  pretended  to  demur, 
saying  that  he  had  no  wardrobe,  and  that  it  was  so 
long  since  he  had  acted  that  he  "really  feared." 
But  he  could  not  conceal  an  undercurrent  of  secret 
delight  at  the  thought  of  again  striding  the  stage. 
He  consented.  He  was  so  well  known  in  Texas 
we  felt  quite  sure  that,  in  securing  his  services  for 
a  joint  benefit  to  the  company,  our  treasury  would 
swell  from  its  present  slender  dimensions  and  give 
us  the  means  of  returning  to  Galveston  with  flying 
colors. 

Stanley's  professional  and  private  histories  were 
both  interesting,  as  they  covered  a  period  when 
artistic,  commercial,  and  military  matters  were 
curiously  mingled.  He  had  acted  in  the  then 
far  West  under  the  management  of  Alexander 
Drake  both  in  Louisville  and  in  Cincinnati ;  he 
had  then  drifted  off  into  Texas,  joining  the  rangers 
against  Santa  Anna ;  then  back  again  to  the  Mis- 
sissippi, where  he  encountered  the  celebrated  Chap- 
man company,  who  had  ingeniously  fitted  up  a 
steamboat  and  converted  it  into  a  floating  theater. 
This  huge  dramatic  barge  used  to  ply  from  one 
town  to  another  on  the  Ohio,  Mississippi,  and  Mis- 
souri rivers,  giving  theatrical  entertainments  at  the 
various  points  where  there  were  no  theaters.  The 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  63 

roving  spirit  again  taking  possession  of  him,  he 
left  the  Chapmans  and  returned  to  Texas. 

The  night  was  arranged  for  the  benefit,  and 
such  was  the  popularity  of  the  volunteer  that 
tickets  amounting  to  the  capacity  of  the  theater, 
and  even  beyond  it,  were  sold  without  delay.  As 
I  before  said,  Richard  III.  was  his  pet  part ;  and 
while  he  considered  himself  unequaled  in  the  char- 
acter, he  confided  to  me  that  he  did  not  mind  pri- 
vately confessing  that  in  the  later  scenes  he  drew 
his  inspiration  from  the  example  of  Edwin  Forrest. 
Stanley  now  employed  his  mornings  in  walking  as 
majestically  as  his  ungainly  figure  would  permit  up 
and  down  the  stage,  gesticulating  violently  and 
roaring  out  the  soliloquies  of  Richard ;  and  his 
afternoons  in  accumulating  raw  cotton,  in  order 
that  the  hump  and  the  bandy-legs  of  the  crook- 
backed  tyrant  might  be  properly  deformed  and 
traditionally  disfigured. 

Our  volunteer  reminded  me  of  an  actor  I  once 
knew  who  used  to  wear  upon  the  stage  a  red  wig 
so  like  his  own  hair  that  whether  he  had  it  on 
or  off  there  was  no  perceptible  difference  in  his 
appearance.  So  with  Stanley :  his  bandy-legs  and 
round  shoulders,  even  when  unadorned,  quite  har- 
monized with  the  accepted  idea  of  Gloucester's 
deformity ;  but,  looking  upon  himself  as  an  Apollo, 
our  hero  had  piled  such  a  mountain  of  cotton 
on  his  natural  hump  that  it  made  "  Ossa  like  a 
wart." 

On  the  auspicious  night  the  house  was  packed 
to  the  doors.  A  few  ladies  came;  but  their 


64  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

escorts,  seeing  that  the  audience  were  disposed  to 
be  turbulent,  took  them  away,  so  that  the  friends 
and  admirers  of  the  star  were  unchecked  in  their 
cat-calls  and  noisy  demonstrations.  Law,  order,  and 
decorum  were  set  at  defiance.  The  friends  of  the 
old  ranger  had  come  for  a  frolic  and  evidently 
intended  to  have  it.  The  placard  of  "  No  smok- 
ing" was  totally  disregarded.  Pipes  and  cigars 
were  vigorously  puffed,  and  the  house  was  so 
filled  with  smoke  that  one  would  have  supposed 
that  the  battle  of  Bosworth  Field  had  taken  place 
before  the  opposing  forces  met.  The  weather  was 
sultry,  and  the  general  heat,  combined  with  the 
stifling  atmosphere  of  a  crowded  house,  ran  the 
little  box  of  a  theater  up  to  the  temperature  of  an 
oven  in  full  force. 

At  the  rise  of  the  curtain  the  expectant  audience 
were  on  tiptoe  to  greet  their  comrade.  At  the 
wing  stood  the  sweltering  Richard,  absorbed  in 
his  character  and  embedded  in  cotton,  and  as  he 
strode  upon  the  stage  the  theater  rang  with 
applause  and  shouts  of  welcome.  After  bowing 
low  his  acknowledgments  he  began  the  famous 
soliloquy.  The  performance  proceeded  quietly  for 
a  time,  the  silence  being  broken  now  and  then  by 
expressions  of  approval  in  complimentary  but 
rather  familiar  terms.  During  the  love  scene  with 
Lady  Anne,  her  ladyship  was  warned  by  some 
one  in  the  audience,  who  claimed  to  have  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  Richard's  private  domestic 
affairs,  that  the  tyrant  had  already  two  Mexican 
wives  in  San  Antonio.  Nothing  daunted  at  this 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  65 

public  accusation  of  polygamy,  "  Pud  "  pressed  his 
suit  with  ardor. 

The  retired  actor  had  not  forgotten  some  of  the 
old-fashioned  tricks  of  the  art,  and  would  take 
the  stage  with  tremendous  strides  from  the  center 
to  the  extreme  right  or  left  after  making  a  point, 
thereby  signifying  to  the  audience  that  if  they 
desired  to  applaud  that  was  their  time.  "  Off 
with  his  head  !  so  much  for  Buckingham ! "  and 
away  he  would  go.  In  one  of  these  flights,  being 
over-stimulated  by  excitement  and  applause,  he 
nearly  stumbled  into  the  private  box.  Straight- 
ening himself  up,  his  ostrich  plumes  became 
entangled  with  a  spermaceti  chandelier  and  set 
him  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  He  glared  with  indig- 
nation at  the  convulsed  audience,  being  himself 
entirely  innocent  of  the  illumination  until  the  un- 
mistakable odor  of  burnt  feathers  warned  him  that 
his  diadem  was  in  danger.  In  the  death  scene, 
just  as  Richard  expired,  a  voice,  signifying  that 
the  game  was  over,  shouted  "  Keno  ! "  This  allu- 
sion to  "  Pud's  "  commercial  pursuits  brought  him 
to  life,  and  as  the  curtain  was  descending  he  sat 
up  and  warned  the  interlocutor  that  he  would 
"keno"  him  in  the  morning. 

The  declaration  of  war  with  Mexico  caused  a 
great  stir  in  Galveston ;  speculations  were  rife  in 
all  quarters  as  to  the  probable  result  from  a  com- 
mercial point  of  view.  Of  course  no  doubt  existed 
as  to  the  ultimate  success  of  our  side ;  but  the 
question  as  to  how  much  was  to  be  made  out  of  it 
seemed  to  absorb  the  public  mind.  Our  manager 


66  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was  a  thrifty  soul,  and  foresaw  the  prospect  of 
good  financial  results  by  following  up  the  army 
with  his  dramatic  forces.  My  mother  was  con- 
siderably alarmed  lest  I  should  be  conscripted,  and 
I  was  not  a  little  uneasy  on  those  grounds  myself. 
In  May,  1846,  we  embarked  on  board  a  con- 
demned Mississippi  steamer  for  Point  Isabel.  This 
leaky  old  boat,  crowded  with  soldiers,  gamblers, 
and  a  few  actors,  feebly  wended  its  uncertain  way 
along  the  coast  and  arrived  at  its  destination  in 
about  four  days.  Luckily,  the  sea  was  as  calm  as 
a  mill-pond ;  for  if  one  of  those  dreadful  cyclones 
so  frequent  in  the  Gulf  had  overtaken  us,  many 
good  soldiers,  indifferent  gamblers,  and  bad  actors 
would  have  found  their  way  to  the  bottom  of  the 
sea,  and  these  important  reinforcements  to  Gen- 
eral Taylor  never  would  have  put  in  an  appear- 
ance. Point  Isabel,  on  our  arrival,  was  all  bustle 
and  activity.  It  was  a  flat,  sandy,  and  uninterest- 
ing place,  covered  with  tents  and  boiling  over 
with  military  preparations.  The  battle  of  Palo 
Alto  was  fought  on  the  8th  of  May :  these  were 
the  first  guns  fired,  and  we  could  distinctly  hear 
the  booming  sounds  of  opposing  cannon  ;  it  ended 
at  sunset  with  victory  for  the  American  army. 
The  next  morning  I  saw  the  ambulance  bringing 
in  the  wounded  form  of  Major  Samuel  Ringgold, 
who  died  soon  after.  This  celebrated  hero  intro- 
duced into  this  country  the  flying  artillery,  to  the 
efficiency  of  which  the  success  of  the  day  was 
attributed.  The  Mexicans  had  retreated  only  a 
few  miles,  and,  being  reenforced,  gave  battle  the 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  67 

next  day,  and  the  memorable  engagement  of 
Resaca  de  la  Palma  was  won  by  the  gallant 
charge  of  Captain  May  at  the  head  of  his  dra- 
goons. Then  came  the  bombardment  of  Fort 
Brown,  and  on  the  i8th  of  May  the  city  of  Mata- 
moras  was  occupied  by  the  United  States  army, 
with  our  gallant  band  of  comedians  bringing  up 
the  rear,  elated  at  our  military  success. 

The  manager  took  advantage  of  the  distressed 
position  of  the  town,  and  by  permission  of  the 
American  commandant  occupied  the  old  Spanish 
theater.  Victory  had  crowned  our  arms;  so  the 
soldiers,  settlers,  gamblers,  rag -tag  and  bob-tail 
crowd  that  always  follow  on  in  the  train  of  an 
army,  like  "greedy  crows"  that  hover  over  the 
heads  of  the  defeated  party,  "  impatient  for  their 
lean  inheritance,"  were  ready  for  amusement. 
Here  we  acted  to  the  most  motley  group  that 
ever  filled  a  theater.  But  in  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember the  trumpet  blast  sounded  in  our  ears 
again  ;  the  soldiers  were  ordered  to  march  on  to 
Monterey.  The  town  was  deserted  and  the  theater 
closed.  Our  manager,  seeing  that  all  further 
hopes  of  their  return  had  vanished,  disbanded  his 
company,  and  with  all  the  cash  he  could  collect, 
including  our  back  salaries,  "wandered  away,  no 
man  knew  whither."  Here  I  was  left  with  my 
mother  and  sister,  thrown  on  our  own  resources, 
which  were  very  small,  in  a  strange  country,  and 
among  a  people  not  at  all  on  good  terms  with  us. 
The  only  member  of  the  company  left  besides  our- 
selves was  Edward  Badger.  He  was  my  brother 


68  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

comedian  and  friend ;  his  father  was  the  well- 
known  Alderman  Badger  of  Philadelphia.  Our 
situation  was  somewhat  desperate ;  so  we  held  a 
council  of  war  to  determine  on  our  future  move- 
ments. The  soldiers  had  gone,  but  the  gamblers 
remained  ;  and  the  brilliant  idea  occurred  to  us  that, 
as  we  could  no  longer  minister  to  their  intellectual 
entertainment,  we  might  make  something  by  fur- 
nishing them  with  internal  comforts.  So  we  boldly 
resolved  to  open  a  coffee  and  cake  stand  in  their 
interest.  We  arranged  to  place  the  stand  in  a 
bar-room  in  the  central  part  of  Matamoras,  the 
locality  offering  the  best  position  for  our  commer- 
cial enterprise.  The  establishment  was  dignified 
by  the  high-sounding  title  of  "The  Grand  Span- 
ish Saloon,"  and  consisted  of  a  long  room,  with  a 
low  ceiling,  having  a  counter,  or  bar,  running  the 
full  length  on  one  side,  and  a  row  of  gaming-tables 
on  the  other,  where  roulette,  keno,  chuck-a-luck, 
and  faro  were  industriously  pursued  with  the  usual 
integrity  which  generally  attaches  itself  to  these 
pastimes.  The  walls  were  beautifully  whitewashed 
and  the  floor  was  well  sprinkled  with  sand.  In 
front  of  the  bar  and  at  regular  intervals  were  kegs 
cut  into  halves  and  filled  with  sawdust,  these  being 
the  cuspidores  of  the  pioneers.  From  the  ceiling 
were  suspended  chandeliers  made  of  barrel-hoops, 
tastily  covered  with  pink,  blue,  and  white  paper, 
cut  in  different  patterns,  in  which  candles  were 
placed  to  illuminate  the  cheerful  and  tragic  scenes 
that  alternately  occurred  in  this  fascinating  but 
dangerous  place. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  69 

Badger,  after  convincing  the  proprietor  that  the 
introduction  of  a  stand  for  cake  and  hot  coffee  at 
one  end  of  the  room  would  not  only  add  to  the 
refinement  of  his  establishment,  but  increase  its 
custom  by  providing  the  patrons  with  refreshment 
during  their  hours  of  relaxation  from  business, 
came  to  terms  with  him.  We  were  to  furnish 
everything  and  give  him  ten  per  cent,  of  our 
gross  receipts  for  rent,  it  being  verbally  under- 
stood that  if  either  Badger  or  myself  came  to  an 
untimely  death  at  the  hands  of  any  of  his  attaches 
the  person  so  offending  should  be  discharged  from 
his  service  at  once. 

Nothing  could  be  more  satisfactory  than  this 
arrangement,  so  I  at  once  set  about  the  decora- 
tion of  our  cafe,  while  Badger  went  off  in  search 
of  an  old  Mexican  woman,  said  to  be  an  expert  in 
the  manufacture  of  coffee  and  pies.  The  construc- 
tion of  our  stand  was  simple  and  effective  :  a  large 
dry-goods  box  on  which  two  boards  were  placed  so 
as  to  reach  the  bar-counter  made  a  permanent  and 
secure  foundation  for  the  reception  of  our  viands. 
The  boards  were  tastefully  draped  and  masked 
with  Turkey-red  reaching  to  the  floor.  Broad 
sheets  of  white  paper  were  spread  over  the  top, 
and  on  the  right,  next  the  counter,  stood  a  large 
and  elaborate  tin  coffee-urn,  and  beneath  it  an 
alcohol  lamp  emitting  a  beautiful  blue  flame.  This 
monument  was  surrounded  by  a  dozen  old  cups 
and  saucers,  in  which,  placed  at  right  angles, 
gleamed  a  corresponding  number  of  shining 
spoons,  giving  a  pure  German  -  silver  flavor  to 


70  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

everything  they  touched.  A  fat  sugar-bowl  and 
an  attenuated  milk-pitcher  completed  the  coffee 
service.  Four  flat  pies,  two  pyramids  of  sand- 
wiches, a  box  of  cheap  cigars  tilted  up  on  a  brick, 
and  a  large  plate  of  home-made  Mexican  cakes 
completed  the  assortment.  Among  the  dainty 
articles  which  adorned  our  counter  were  some 
large,  round,  burnt-sienna-looking  cakes  called 
mandillos.  I  think  they  must  have  been  indig- 
enous to  the  soil  of  Mexico,  for  I  rejoice  to  know 
that  I  never  saw  one  anywhere  else.  They  were 
sparingly  sprinkled  with  dry  currants,  and  glazed 
on  top  with  some  sticky  stuff  that  never  dried 
during  the  whole  summer:  if  an  unlucky  fly  lit  on 
one  of  these  delicacies  his  doom  was  sealed.  I 
have  no  idea  what  they  tasted  like,  for  I  never 
had  the  courage  to  try  one ;  nor  did  I  ever  know 
a  customer  who  ventured  on  one  for  the  second 
time.  One  gentleman, —  an  epicure  from  Texas, — 
said  that  he  would  not  mind  giving  one  a  trial  if 
he  could  be  sure  which  were  the  currants  and 
which  were  the  flies.  This  kind  of  pleasantry 
we  could  afford  to  smile  at,  but  when  a  ranger 
remarked  on  one  occasion  that  any  man  who 
would  sell  such  things  ought  to  be  shot,  we 
decided  —  for  the  sake  of  our  customers  —  that 
we  would  remove  this  objectionable  feature  from 
our  bill  of  fare ;  so  the  cakes  were  forthwith 
banished  to  the  top  shelf,  well  out  of  sight,  and 
utilized  as  fly-traps  for  the  rest  of  the  season. 

When   our  arrangements  were  first  completed 
Badger  and  I  stood  with  folded  arms  at  the  far 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  71 

end  of  the  long  room,  contemplating  the  effect 
with  pride  and  satisfaction.  It  was  now  about 
time  for  the  doors  to  open.  We  were  quite  nerv- 
ous and  excited ;  for,  in  the  innocence  of  our 
natures,  we  expected  a  great  rush  from  the  public. 
Our  spirits  were  somewhat  dampened,  therefore, 
to  find  that  no  one  seemed  to  know  or  care  any- 
thing about  us  or  the  new  venture  in  which  nearly 
all  of  our  available  cash  was  invested. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  stragglers  dropped  in  one 
by  one ;  blear-eyed  gamblers,  freshly  shaved,  with 
shaky  hands  and  gloomy  looks,  called  for  their 
morning  cocktail  at  the  bar.  Now  and  then  we 
caught  a  stray  customer:  our  coffee,  clear  and 
strong,  was  a  great  success;  and  the  pies  did 
pretty  well,  too,  but  the  "  Colorado  Claros"  were 
a  dead  failure.  Our  point  now  was  to  watch  the 
public ;  if  an  article  was  not  in  demand  we  dis- 
carded it  at  once,  and  offered  another  in  its  place. 
By  these  tactics,  before  the  week  was  over,  the 
cash  returns  were  more  than  satisfactory.  My 
partner  and  myself  conformed  to  the  regular  busi- 
ness hours  of  the  establishment :  at  about  three 
o'clock  A.  M.  the  order  to  close  was  given,  and 
" Vamoose!"  was  shouted  by  the  stentorian  lungs 
of  the  proprietor.  The  roulette  ceased  to  revolve, 
the  dice  were  discarded,  the  faro  cloth  was  rolled 
up,  and  our  alcohol  lamp  was  extinguished.  Those 
members  of  the  sporting  fraternity  who  could  stand 
on  their  feet  reeled  home  (?),  and  those  who  could 
not  were  dragged  along  the  sanded  floor  and 
deposited  on  the  sidewalk ;  the  candles  were 


72  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

blown  out  and  the  doors  of  "  The  Grand  Span- 
ish Saloon "  were  closed  to  the  world.  Badger 
and  I  would  trudge  to  our  room  arm  in  arm, 
carrying  our  money  in  a  shot-bag  between  us, 
and  each  armed  with  a  Colt's  patent  "  pepper- 
caster." 

The  dwelling-houses  in  Matamoras  were  gen- 
erally one  story  high,  built  of  brick,  plastered,  and 
painted  yellow ;  one  door  and  an  iron-barred  win- 
dow in  front  on  the  street,  and  the  same  at  the 
back,  leading  to  a  courtyard  which  was  used  in 
common  by  the  occupants  of  the  house  for  wash- 
ing, ironing,  cooking,  and  eating.  We  occupied 
one  of  these  establishments. 

In  the  morning  little  tables,  with  white  cloths, 
were  brought  out  and  set  for  breakfast  in  the 
open  air.  The  different  families  would  sit  at  them 
and  drink  their  hot  coffee,  eat  their  fruit  and  bread, 
smoke  their  cigarettes,  and  talk  away  as  gaily  as  if 
no  war  were  going  on.  The  courtyards  were  en- 
tered by  a  large  gate,  and  hired  out  to  passing 
caravans  of  muleteers  or  rancheros,  who  occupied 
the  middle  of  the  space.  Here  they  also  took  their 
meals  and  sold  their  fruit,  vegetables,  chickens, 
and  dry-goods  of  cheap  and  gaudy-colored  stuffs, 
Mexican  blankets,  sombreros,  and  baskets.  The 
courtyard  at  night  was  a  lovely  sight.  The  little 
houses  surrounding  it  were  all  lighted  up  within, 
the  doors  wide  open  so  that  we  could  see  the 
families,  men,  women,  and  children,  knitting, 
smoking,  dancing,  singing,  and  playing  cards  — 
always  for  money  (everybody  gambled  in  Mex- 


JAMES     \V.    WALLACK,   JR. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  73 

ico) ;  and  groups  of  muleteers  in  the  center  were 
seated  around  their  camp-fire,  which  would  blaze 
and  shed  its  light  over  the  scene.  I  had  a  great 
fondness  for  this  locality,  for  here  I  met  my  first 
love.  Her  mother  was  a  full-blooded  Mexican,  but 
her  father  must  have  been  pure  Castilian,  for  the 
girl  was  not  only  beautiful,  but  her  features  were 
aristocratic.  She  had  the  prettiest  little  feet  and 
hands  that  could  be  imagined.  Her  merry  black 
eyes  fairly  danced  and  sparkled  with  brilliancy, 
and  when  laughing  she  would  throw  her  head 
back  in  ecstasy,  showing  two  rows  of  pearly  teeth. 
Metta  —  that  was  her  name  —  was  as  wild  and 
graceful  as  a  deer.  I  was  quite  in  love  with  her  at 
first  sight,  and  when  she  began  to  teach  me  to 
play  the  guitar  and  smoke  cigarettes  I  was  entirely 
captured.  She  had  that  rich,  olive  complexion  that 
one  sees  in  a  pale  Key  West  cigar,  and,  like  that 
article,  was  about  half  Spanish.  Her  great  delight 
was  to  make  a  full  half-dozen  of  her  Mexican 
sweethearts  jealous  by  flirting  with  me ;  but  as 
she  spoke  not  a  word  of  English,  and  I  was  en- 
tirely ignorant  of  Spanish,  we  could  only  make 
eyes  and  smile  at  each  other.  Perhaps  this  was 
all  for  the  best,  because  had  it  been  otherwise  I 
am  afraid  that,  though  I  was  only  eighteen,  my 
mother  would  have  been  astonished  with  a  Mexican 
daughter-in-law  before  we  left  the  country. 

Our  business  aftairs  were  flourishing  at  the 
saloon,  and  but  for  a  strong  propensity  that  my 
speculative  partner  had  for  trying  his  luck  at 
the  side  tables  now  and  then,  we  should  have 


74  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

made  a  small  fortune.  Of  course  there  was  a 
heavy  risk  of  life  and  property  in  such  a  place,  as 
the  frequenters  of  the  "  Grand  Spanish "  were 
more  numerous  than  select,  and,  to  paraphrase 
an  old  saying,  "when  the  rum  was  in,  the  knife 
was  out."  Several  times  the  firm  had  dodged 
under  the  counter  to  escape  contact  with  a  stray 
bullet,  and  on  one  occasion  the  offending  coffee- 
urn  had  been  fatally  shot. 

I  now  divided  my  time  between  attention  to 
commerce  and  learning  the  Spanish  language 
from  Metta,  but  I  am  afraid  it  was  a  case  of 
pleasure  before  business.  She  was  the  most  inno- 
cent, simple  child  of  nature  that  I  ever  saw,  and 
yet,  with  all  her  modesty,  a  perfect  miniature 
coquette.  She  would  jump  for  joy  and  clap  her 
little  hands  together  if  she  only  could  contrive  to 
make  any  of  her  lovers  jealous.  The  scowling 
brows  of  one  of  her  native  admirers,  together  with 
the  liberal  display  of  a  small  arsenal  of  uncon- 
cealed weapons  encircling  his  waist,  always  gave 
me  a  disagreeable  turn,  and  at  these  times  I  would 
insist  on  Metta's  not  lavishing  so  much  public 
attention  on  me.  I  never  saw  the  fellow's  dark 
eyes  glaring  at  me  but  there  came  up  a  vision  of 
that  old  engraving  of  the  Spanish  lady  on  a  moon- 
light night  smiling  from  her  window  on  her  favor- 
ite lover,  and  a  melodramatic-looking  rival  in  the 
background  peering  around  the  corner  and  grasp- 
ing a  stiletto  as  big  as  a  hand-saw,  ready  to  stab 
the  accepted  lover  in  the  back. 

A  noted  character  on  the  border  line  in  those 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  75 

days,  one  Buck  Wallace,  was  a  frequenter  of  this 
place  —  a  lump  of  good  nature  and  kindness  when 
unmolested,  but  the  demon  in  him  once  aroused, 
a  desperate  and  dangerous  man.  He  was  a 
Philadelphian  by  birth ;  and  as  that  was  my 
native  city,  Wallace  and  I  struck  up  a  great 
friendship,  though  he  was  full  thirty  years  my 
senior.  He  was  an  interesting  fellow,  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  tenderness  and  ferocity.  His 
life  had  been  an  adventurous  and  romantic  one ; 
as  a  boy,  he  had  served  under  Captain  James 
Bowie,  after  whom  the  famous  bowie-knife  is 
named,  and  was  with  Davy  Crockett  at  the  fall 
of  the  Alamo.  After  the  assassination  of  Crockett 
and  Bowie  by  the  Mexicans,  Wallace  returned  to 
Philadelphia,  and,  as  extremes  meet,  strangely 
enough  married  a  beautiful  young  Quakeress. 
He  now  resolved  to  settle  down  and  lead  a 
steady  life,  but  the  City  of  Brotherly  Love  was 
a  trifle  too  peaceful  for  his  belligerent  nature ;  so, 
taking  his  young  wife  on  his  arm,  he  again  sought 
the  border,  squatting  on  a  ranch  in  the  heart  of 
a  wild  and  lonely  spot  on  the  banks  of  the  Nueces. 
This  river  marked  the  fighting  line  between  Mex- 
ico and  Texas,  so  it  was  congenial  soil  for  "  Bully 
Buck,"  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  though  I  am 
afraid  the  friendly  spirit  of  his  gentle  wife  was 
often  shocked  by  his  deeds  of  daring.  He  used  to 
talk  to  me  of  this  sweet  lady  and  their  only  child 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  for  he  was  a  loving  savage. 
They  had  been  cruelly  murdered  by  the  Comanche 
Indians  during  the  absence  of  Wallace  from  his 


76  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


home.  This  crazed  him  for  several  months,  and 
when  he  came  to  himself  a  morbid  craving  for 
revenge  took  possession  of  him.  It  is  said  that  if 
Buck  met  a  Comanche  alone,  it  was  all  up  with 
the  redskin.  His  knowledge  of  the  country  made 
him  of  much  importance  at  this  time  to  the  United 
States  Government,  by  whom  he  was  employed  as 
spy,  scout,  ranger,  and  detective  ;  his  bold  nature 
won  for  him  the  admiration  of  his  friends  and  the 
fear  of  his  enemies.  He  had  in  his  way  educated 
himself,  and  was  very  fond  of  quoting  poetry  of 
the  morbid  and  romantic  order.  Byron's  "  Cor- 
sair," Poe's  "  Raven,"  and  Scott's  Highland  tales 
were  special  favorites  with  him  ;  but  he  had  a 
thorough  contempt  for  Cooper's  novels,  and  put 
no  faith  in  the  existence  of  "  Boston  Indians." 

One  evening,  —  the  last  on  earth  for  him,  poor 
fellow  !  —  just  as  the  candles  were  lighted  and  the 
games  in  the  "Grand  Saloon"  were  in  full  play, 
Wallace,  without  hat  or  coat  and  with  his  hair 
disheveled,  rushed  wildly  into  the  room.  He 
shouted  to  the  crowd  :  "  Give  me  a  knife  or  a 
pistol,  for  God's  sake,  quick,  or  I  'm  gone  !  " 
Everybody  started  to  his  feet  ;  the  man  was  so 
well  known  that  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  his 
desperate  appearance  seemed  to  terrify  the  crowd. 
In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  three  dark-looking 
Mexicans  rushed  into  the  room  and  began  a  furi- 
ous attack  upon  Wallace.  He  was  unarmed,  and, 
seizing  a  chair,  he  fought  desperately  for  his  life. 
He  felled  the  first  man  to  the  ground,  but  before 
he  could  turn  he  was  stabbed  to  the  heart  by  one 


MRS.    JAMES    \V.    \VALLACK,   JR. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFLRSON  77 

of  his  other  assailants  and  fell  heavily  to  the  floor ; 
the  assassins,  brandishing  their  knives,  cleared  a 
way  through  the  crowd  and  escaped.  This  was 
the  darkest  tragedy  I  had  yet  seen,  and  that 
night,  as  I  turned  the  matter  over  in  my  mind, 
I  felt  that,  however  congenial  this  atmosphere 
might  be  for  a  Texan  ranger,  it  was  no  place  for 
a  legitimate  comedian.  So  I  proposed  to  Badger 
that  we  should  at  once  hunt  up  some  Mexican 
having  a  commercial  turn  of  mind  and  sell  out. 
This  was  easily  done ;  the  business  was  a  thriv- 
ing one,  and  the  death  of  poor  Wallace  seemed 
to  have  made  the  place  more  popular.  So  we  sold 
the  good-will,  divided  our  capital,  and  dissolved. 

I  had  to  break  the  dreadful  tidings  to  Metta 
that  I  must  go  away.  I  do  not  think  she  cared 
half  so  much  for  me  as  I  did  for  her;  but  when 
she  realized  the  fact  that  I  was  about  to  "va- 
moose "  she  got  up  quite  a  little  scene.  Through 
our  interpreter  I  told  her  I  should  soon  make 
my  fortune  and  return  to  her  to  claim  her  as  my 
bride,  and  bear  her  off  with  the  whole  family  — 
there  were  sixteen  of  them  —  to  my  own  country. 
It  was  pretty  hard  to  make  her  understand  that 
there  was  any  other  country  but  the  one  she  was 
living  in :  she  had  often  wondered  where  I  and 
all  the  other  cruel  people  had  come  from  to  make 
war  on  her  family,  and  always  fancied  that  the 
little  town  where  she  was  born  was  the  all  and 
end  of  everything.  In  fact,  Metta  in  Matamoras 
was  like  the  minnow  in  the  brook  —  she  "  knew  not 
of  the  sea  to  which  the  brook  was  flowing." 


78  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


The  parting  between  Metta  and  myself  was  very 
affecting  ;  her  mother  and  all  her  little  barefooted 
brothers  were  weeping  away  in  the  Mexican 
tongue  as  I  departed.  In  a  month  after  that  I 
had  quite  forgotten  Metta,  and  the  chances  are 
that  within  a  year  she  had  allied  herself  to  that 
animated  arsenal,  the  dark-eyed  rival. 

We  had  a  permit  to  leave  Matamoras  in  one  of 
the  Government  boats  that  was  taking  back 
wounded  soldiers  to  Brazos  Santiago.  Many  of 
the  poor  fellows  were  on  board,  and,  having  left 
various  members  of  their  bodies  on  the  battle-fields 
of  Mexico,  they  were  anxious  to  get  what  was 
left  of  them  home  as  soon  as  possible.  I  was  an 
eye-witness  to  much  of  the  suffering  ;  the  water, 
the  climate,  the  blazing  sun,  and  the  drenching 
rain  thinned  their  ranks  with  more  effect  than 
Mexican  valor  could  have  done.  One  by  one  they 
dropped  off,  and  by  the  time  we  reached  Brazos 
Santiago  there  were  but  few  left  alive.  Here  we 
left  the  Government  steamer  and  took  passage  on 
a  brig  bound  for  New  Orleans. 

I  am  not  aware  as  to  how  attractive  their  places 
of  business  may  be  to  the  members  of  other  pro- 
fessions, but  when  I  was  a  youth  the  first  place 
an  actor  sought  out  when  he  arrived  in  town  was 
the  theater.  Actors  seemed  to  be  in  love  with 
their  vocation  and  fluttered  about  the  footlights, 
whether  they  had  anything  to  do  or  not.  I  scarcely 
think  that  the  attachment  is  so  strong  to-day,  and 
there  are  many  reasons,  too,  why  it  should  not  be 
so.  At  the  time  of  which  I  write  actors  mixed 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  79 

but  little  with  the  public  and  seldom  went  into 
society.  Salaries  were  small,  so  they  could  not 
afford  expensive  amusements,  and  I  cannot  call  to 
mind  that  there  was  a  dramatic  club  in  America. 
Now  they  have  their  yachts,  their  horses,  their 
clubs,  and  their  country  homes.  Then  their  only 
place  of  rendezvous  was  the  theater. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  then,  that  on  our 
arrival  in  New  Orleans  the  brig  we  came  in  had 
scarcely  touched  the  wharf  when  I  leaped  ashore 
and  bought  a  morning  paper  to  see  what  theater 
was  open.  At  the  St.  Charles  —  still  under  the 
management  of  Ludlow  &  Smith  —  there  was 
announced  the  "  Tragedy  of  King  Richard  III." 
from  the  original  text,  the  stars  being  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  James  W.  Wallack,  Jr.,  who  appeared  as 
the  Duke  of  Gloster  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  the 
evening's  entertainment  concluding  with  the  farce 
of  "A  Kiss  in  the  Dark,"  with  the  then  rising 
young  comedian  John  E.  Owens  as  Mr.  Pittibone. 
Of  course  I  went  at  once  to  the  theater.  As  I  had 
acted  there  the  season  before,  I  knew  all  of  the 
attaches  and  most  of  the  company,  and  I  naturally 
expected  to  be  something  of  a  lion,  having  just 
returned  from  the  seat  of  war.  In  this,  however, 
I  was  somewhat  disappointed ;  for  as  I  had  arrived 
in  a  sailing  vessel,  they  knew  more  of  the  conflict 
than  I  did.  That  night  I  saw  the  performance. 
James  W.  Wallack,  Jr.,1  was  in  those  days  at  his 
best.  Young,  vigorous,  and  handsome,  he  was 

1  So  called  to  distinguish  him  from  his  uncle,  who  was  the . 
father  of  Lester  Wallack. 


80  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  most  romantic-looking  actor  I  ever  saw ;  there 
was  a  dash  and  spirit  in  his  carriage,  too,  that  was 
charming.  I  say  he  was  at  his  best  in  those  days, 
because  in  after  years  the  acting  of  Macready, 
whom  as  an  artist  he  idolized,  had  an  unfortunate 
influence  upon  him,  as  he  ultimately  became  im- 
bued with  the  mannerisms  of  the  English  tragedian, 
which  were  so  marked  that  they  marred  the  nat- 
ural grace  of  the  imitator.  All  who  remember 
Mrs.  James  W.  Wallack,  Jr.,  will  attest  the  force 
of  her  tragic  acting.  In  the  quality  of  queenly 
dignity  I  think  she  even  surpassed  Charlotte 
Cushman,  though  she  lacked  perhaps  the  spirit 
and  fire  of  the  latter.  War  usually  increases  the 
nightly  receipts  of  the  theater,  but  the  struggle 
with  Mexico  seemed  to  have  a  contrary  effect.  So 
I  remember  that,  though  the  bill  would  have  been 
considered  an  attractive  one  under  the  usual  con- 
dition of  public  affairs,  the  audience  was  small. 
The  American  Theater,  then  under  the  manage- 
ment of  James  Place,  was  not  open,  but  the  com- 
pany was  still  in  town,  and  there  were  as  many 
actors  as  citizens  in  front. 

The  play  was  finely  acted  but  indifferently 
mounted,  the  armies  of  York  and  Lancaster 
being  wretchedly  equipped  and  quite  limited  as 
to  quality  and  quantity.  The  faint  and  unmilitary 
efforts  that  they  made  to  march  with  time  and 
precision  gave  them  anything  but  a  warlike  aspect. 
In  keeping  step  there  was  a  glaring  difference  of 
opinion,  the  pursuing  army  treading  more  upon 
their  own  heels  than  upon  those  of  the  enemy, 


JOHN    E.    OWENS. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  81 

and  in  the  final  collision  there  was  a  friendly 
tapping  of  tin  spears  on  pasteboard  helmets  that 
told  too  plainly  of  a  bloodless  battle. 

But  the  really  furious  fight  between  Richard  and 
Richmond  made  amends  for  the  docility  of  the  rank 
and  file.  Wallack  was  a  superb  swordsman,  and  I 
do  not  remember  to  have  seen  a  stage  combat  fought 
with  finer  effect. 

I  had  for  the  last  year  at  least  been  buffeting 
about  in  barns  and  tents,  so  that  anything  like  a 
legitimate  production  was  a  great  treat.  But  my 
chief  interest  on  this  occasion  was  centered  in 
the  farce,  and  my  thoughts  were  dwelling  on  the 
approaching  efforts  of  the  rising  young  comedian 
—  and  why  not  ?  Was  I  not  a  rising  young  com- 
edian myself?  I  certainly  had  reached  that  height 
in  my  own  estimation,  at  least,  and  I  felt  a  burning 
desire  that  a  time  should  come  when  some  news- 
paper would  proclaim  it  for  me  as  the  New  Orleans 
"  Picayune  "  had  that  day  announced  it  for  Owens. 

At  last  he  came,  and  certainly  he  conquered. 
As  he  entered  briskly  upon  the  stage,  humming 
a  sprightly  song,  I  thought  him  the  handsomest 
low  comedian  I  had  ever  seen.  He  had  a  neat, 
dapper  little  figure,  and  a  face  full  of  lively  expres- 
sion. His  audience  was  with  him  from  first  to  last, 
his  effective  style  and  great  flow  of  animal  spirits 
capturing  them  and  myself  too  —  though  I  must 
confess  that  I  had  a  hard  struggle  even  inwardly 
to  acknowledge  it. 

As  I  look  back  and  call  to  mind  the  slight  touch 
of  envy  that  I  felt  that  night,  I  am  afraid  that  I  had 


82  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

hoped  to  see  something  not  quite  so  good,  and  was 
a  little  annoyed  to  find  him  such  a  capital  actor; 
in  short,  I  experienced  those  unpleasant  twinges 
of  jealousy  that  will  creep  over  us  during  the 
moments  when  we  are  not  at  our  best  —  though 
these  feelings  may  occasionally  produce  a  good 
result.  In  me,  I  know,  it  stirred  up  the  first  great 
ambition  that  I  remember  ever  to  have  felt,  and 
from  that  night  of  pleasure  and  excitement  I  re- 
solved to  equal  Owens  some  day,  if  I  could. 


JOHN    E.   OWENS    AS    "  SOLON    SHINGLE.' 


CHAPTER  IV 

EARLY   DAYS   IN   PHILADELPHIA  AND  NEW  YORK 

Crossing  the  Alleghanies  —  My  Friend  the  Scene 
Painter — William  E.  Burton  —  An  Effort  in 
Greek  Tragedy  —  Charles  Burke 


I 


IT  was  now  decided  that  my  mother  and  sister 
should  remain  in  New  Orleans  with  some  old 
friends  while  I  went  to  join  my  half-brother 
in  Philadelphia.  He  had  been  urging  us  for  some 
time  to  come  to  the  North,  writing  that  arrange- 
ments were  made  for  me  to  act  the  second  comedy 
to  himself  and  W.  E.  Burton,  then  manager  of  the 
Arch  Street  Theater.  My  mother  was  banker,  and 
so  had  charge  of  the  money.  I  took  enough  to 
see  me  to  Philadelphia,  supposing  that  no  accident 
would  happen ;  but  before  our  steamer  arrived  at 
Wheeling  the  river  was  blocked  with  ice,  and  we 
were  delayed  over  a  week  before  we  could  reach 
the  line  of  stages  that  crossed  the  Alleghany 
Mountains. 


84  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Some  of  the  old  folks  of  to-day,  who  live  only  in 
the  past  and  stolidly  witness  the  improvements  of 
the  present,  passing  no  remarks  upon  them  except 
when  there  is  an  opportunity  to  condemn,  are 
always  preaching  about  the  delights  of  the  olden 
time  and  extolling  the  comforts  of  the  stage-coach. 
I  will  describe,  by  way  of  contrast  with  travel  of 
the  present  day,  how  the  Alleghany  Mountains 
were  crossed  in  1846. 

It  was  midwinter  when  we  arrived  at  Wheeling. 
Our  steamboat  was  tied  to  the  wharf  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  as  the  stage-coach  was 
to  start  at  five  no  one  thought  of  going  to  bed,  so 
we  wended  our  way  along  the  frozen  streets  to 
secure  through  tickets  to  Philadelphia.  The  morn- 
ing was  pitch-dark  and  bitter  cold  —  that  damp, 
penetrating  weather  piercing  wraps  and  overcoats 
until  it  reaches  the  very  marrow  in  one's  bones. 

We  got  to  the  little  den,  by  courtesy  called  the 
"office,"  where  we  found  a  half-dozen  more  passen- 
gers equally  damp,  cold,  and  ill-natured  with  our- 
selves. There  was  a  handful  of  coal  burning  in  a 
very  small  grate,  about  which  were  grouped  the 
round-shouldered,  unsympathetic  people  who  were 
to  be  our  fellow-travelers.  They  glanced  at  us  as 
we  entered,  and,  closing  up  all  the  open  space  near 
the  fire,  said  as  plainly  as  they  could  without  speak- 
ing :  "  You  don't  get  in  here,  we  can  tell  you.  You 
have  no  right  to  travel  in  our  coach,  anyhow." 

At  one  side  there  was  a  small  table  on  which 
stood  a  large  coffee-pot,  some  white  cups  and 
saucers,  a  plate  of  sausages, —  frozen  stiff, —  and 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  85 

an  unattractive  loaf  of  bread ;  behind  this  ban- 
quet was  a  tall  darky,  leaning  against  the  wall 
and  fast  asleep.  Here  he  remained  undisturbed, 
not  only  because  his  refreshments  were  not  tempt- 
ing, but  because  we  were  given  to  understand 
that  we  could  get  a  good  breakfast  twenty  miles 
from  Wheeling.  At  the  appointed  time  the  heavy 
old  coach  came  up  and  we  all  climbed  in.  As 
our  places  were  not  designated  on  the  ticket,  we 
stowed  ourselves  in  pell-mell,  and  I  presume  no 
one  got  the  seat  he  wanted. 

A  short  way  from  town  there  was  a  long  hill  up 
which  the  horses  toiled,  so  this  gave  the  inmates 
of  the  coach  time  to  settle  themselves  down  for 
a  quiet  nap.  One  snore  after  another  announced 
the  accomplishment  of  this  feat,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  at  least  six  out  of  the  nine  passengers 
were  oblivious  of  their  miserable  condition.  I 
never  before  had  so  fine  an  opportunity  to  study 
the  philosophy  of  snoring.  A  large,  fat  man 
opposite  me  had  a  short,  angry  snore;  at  one 
time  he  snored  so  loudly  that  he  woke  himself 
up,  and  he  had  the  impudence  to  glare  about  at 
the  company  as  though  he  hoped  they  would  not 
make  that  noise  again.  The  old  lady  who  was 
crushing  me  up  in  the  corner  snored  deeply  and 
contentedly.  Some  one  off  in  a  dark  corner,  whom 
I  could  not  see,  had  a  genial  way  of  joining  in,  as 
though  he  snored  merely  to  oblige  the  passen- 
gers ;  but  the  grand,  original  musician  of  the 
party  sat  opposite  me.  I  never  heard  anything 
approaching  him,  either  for  quality  or  for  compass. 


86  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

It  was  a  back-action  snore  that  began  in  a  bold 
agitato  movement,  suddenly  brought  up  with  a 
jerk,  and  terminated  in  a  low  whistle.  As  the 
coach  steadily  moved  up  the  hill  the  band  was  in 
full  play.  The  summit  gained,  there  was  a  sharp 
crack  of  the  whip,  the  horses  started,  and  as  every- 
body was  jerked  violently  backward,  snoring  gave 
place  to  oaths  and  pshaws  and  jolting  about.  As 
soon,  however,  as  we  got  used  to  this  sensation, 
the  chorus  began  again ;  and  as  I  was  quite  over- 
come and  tired,  I  joined  in  until  the  coach  came  to 
a  full  stop  at  the  stable  where  the  horses  were  to 
be  changed.  The  sun  now  rose,  and  came  in  at 
all  sorts  of  places,  waking  and  blinding  everybody. 
What  a  discontented  and  unhappy  lot  we  were ! 
and  how  we  all  hated  one  another ! 

Breakfast  at  last !  Ah,  hot  coffee,  ham  and  eggs, 
and  buckwheat  cakes !  The  meal  was  not  half 
over  before  we  were  a  band  of  brothers.  We  could 
not  do  enough  for  one  another,  and  all  was  har- 
mony and  peace.  Of  course,  under  these  conditions, 
we  became  more  familiar,  and  one  vied  with  another 
in  making  the  time  pass  agreeably. 

Two  gentlemen  pitted  themselves  against  each 
other  in  telling  funny  stories.  Their  talents  and 
qualities  in  this  respect  differed  very  widely :  one 
invariably  began  his  anecdotes  by  telling  the  joke 
first  and  then  relating  the  story,  whereas  the  other 
told  his  tale  in  a  capital  way  until  he  came  to  the 
point,  and  that  he  never  could  remember.  The 
fat  man  sang  a  sentimental  song  about  "  My 
Mother,  Oh,  my  Mother."  His  voice  was  not  bad 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  87 

if  he  had  only  kept  in  one  key,  but  his  natural  inde- 
pendence set  all  such  trifles  at  defiance,  and  in  his 
most  extravagant  wanderings  he  would  look  about 
with  an  expression  of  countenance  which  clearly  ad- 
monished us  not  to  give  him  any  advice  in  thematter. 

Of  course  I  was  expected  to  contribute  my  share 
of  amusement,  particularly  as  it  leaked  out  that  I 
was  a  young  actor;  in  fact,  I  should  have  been 
offended  if  they  had  not  pressed  me.  I  sang  a 
comic  song  about  "The  Good  Old  Days  of  Adam 
and  Eve,"  the  passengers  liberally  joining  in  the 
chorus.  I  followed  this  up  with  some  bad  imita- 
tions of  Forrest  and  Booth.  These  seemed  to  give 
great  satisfaction,  the  old  lady  exclaiming  that  the 
imitations  were  wonderful ;  but  as  it  afterwards 
turned  out  that  she  had  never  seen  the  originals, 
her  criticism  must  be  received  with  some  caution. 
The  day  rolled  slowly  away,  and  as  the  darkness 
came  on  a  mountain  storm  of  snow  and  driving 
wind  enveloped  us.  As  we  ascended  the  mountain 
the  cold  became  intense. 

It  was  rather  late  in  the  night  when  we  arrived 
at  the  supper  station,  as  in  consequence  of  the 
slippery  state  of  the  roads  we  were  fully  three 
hours  behind  time ;  but  the  cheerful  look  of  the 
dining-room,  with  its  huge  blazing  fire  of  logs, 
repaid  us  for  all  the  suffering  we  had  endured. 
We  found  that  a  large  pile  of  bricks  was  being 
heated  for  us  in  front  of  the  fireplace :  these  com- 
forting articles  were  intended  for  our  feet  in  the 
coach,  and  nothing,  not  even  the  supper,  could 
have  been  more  welcome. 


88  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


The  horses  changed  and  the  passengers  aboard, 
we  were  again  ready  for  our  journey  —  more  peril- 
ous now  than  ever,  for  as  we  reached  the  summit 
of  the  mountain  the  storm  increased  in  its  fury. 
At  times  we  thought  the  stage  would  blow  over; 
the  icy  roads  caused  the  horses  to  slip,  and  several 
times  the  leaders  went  down.  It  was  a  night  to  be 
remembered.  A  little  after  daylight  we  rolled  into 
the  town  of  Cumberland,  the  terminus  of  the  stage 
line  and  the  beginning  of  the  railroad.  Shivering 
and  benumbed  with  cold,  we  alighted  and  sought 
the  hotel  for  warmth  and  shelter.  The  driver  of  the 
coach  was  frozen  stiff  and  had  to  be  assisted  down 
from  the  box.  Another  hour  on  the  road  would 
have  been  fatal  to  him. 

Twenty-four  hours  of  suffering  and  peril  took  us 
from  Wheeling  to  Cumberland  —  a  journey  now 
made  in  six,  with  a  comfortable  bed  to  lie  on  and 
a  warm  sleeping-car  for  shelter. 

A  reunion  with  my  brother  was  always  delight- 
ful. We  took  the  greatest  pleasure  in  each  other's 
society,  and  he  seemed  never  tired  of  making  any 
sacrifices  for  my  advancement,  and,  while  we  were 
both  acting  at  the  Arch,  would  often  persuade  Mr. 
Bjurton  to  cast  me  for  parts  far  beyond  my  reach. 
r  At  the  end  of  the  season  Burke  joined  the  Bow- 
ery Theater  in  New  York,  and  I  was  installed  in 
his  place  at  the  Arch.  I  was  destined  to  meet 
in  this  theater  one  of  my  oldest  and  dearest 
friends,  Tom  Glessing.  Dear  Tom  !  as  I  write 
your  name  how  my  thoughts  run  back  to  the 
olden  time  —  not  that  we  were  happier  then  in 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  89 

each  other's  friendship,  for  it  is  a  great  comfort  to 
reflect  that  throughout  the  many  years  we  knew 
each  other  our  affection  never  weakened. 

Tom  was  the  scenic  artist  of  the  Arch  Street 
Theater,  and  noted  for  great  rapidity  in  the  exe- 
cution of  his  work.  The  same  generous  nature  that 
prompted  him  to  lavish  all  he  had  upon  his  friends 
rendered  him  equally  prodigal  in  the  use  of  paint; 
he  wasted  more  than  he  used,  and  bespattered 
everything  and  everybody,  himself  included.  Such 
was  the  generosity  of  his  double-pound  brush,  that 
it  scattered  benevolence  in  all  directions,  and  woe 
betide  his  dearest  friend  if  ever  he  came  within  the 
circumference  of  its  bounty !  His  was  the  loudest 
and  the  heartiest  laugh  I  ever  heard.  Nor  had  he 
any  control  over  it,  and  often  during  the  quiet 
scene  of  some  play  that  was  in  preparation  his 
boisterous  roar  of  merriment  would  burst  forth 
from  the  paint-room  and,  echoing  through  the 
theater,  upset  the  serious  business  of  the  play. 
At  such  times  the  stage-manager  would  have  to 
assert  his  authority,  and  demand  of  Glessing  that 
he  should  stop  that  "  dreadful  roar"  in  order 
that  the  rehearsal  might  go  on.  If  he  had  a  fault 
it  was  that  he  was  a  trifle  mischievous,  and  his 
enjoyment  of  a  practical  joke,  played  on  any  one  of 
his  companions,  was  delightful  to  behold :  when 
he  tried  to  tell  of  it  he  would  laugh  so  immoder- 
ately that  one  could  never  understand  half  he  said. 
Fortunately,  none  of  his  pranks  resulted  seriously, 
except  sometimes  to  himself;  and  when  recounting 
some  of  the  mishaps  that  had  befallen  him,  in  con- 


90  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

sequence  of  indulging  too  freely  in  his  sport,  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  his  own  discomfiture  quite  as 
much  as  that  of  the  other  party.  Practical  jokers, 
like  physicians,  seldom  take  their  own  prescrip- 
tions with  pleasure ;  but  Tom  was  an  exception, 
and  would  even  delight  in  being  the  victim  of  the 
game. 

I  recall  the  first  time  we  met  in  the  paint-room : 
he  was  hard  at  work,  splashing  in  a  turbulent 
ocean  with  angry  billows  breaking  upon  the  rocks. 
The  storm  was  very  severe,  and  the  artist  must 
have  had  a  narrow  escape,  for  he  was  so  bespat- 
tered with  spray  that  he  seemed  to  have  been 
battling  with  the  breakers. 

We  were  friends  from  the  first  moment.  Sincere 
attachments  usually  begin  at  the  beginning.  He 
had  but  one  sorrow — it  was  a  domestic  one — and 
he  bore  it  nobly,  never  uttering  a  word  against 
those  who  had  caused  his  unhappiness.  Years 
afterward  he  married  again,  and  so  happily  that 
it  repaid  him  for  the  trouble  he  had  passed  through 
in  his  youth.  Gaiety  became  contagious  in  his 
presence,  and  cheerfulness  followed  in  his  wake. 
He  dreaded  to  look  upon  the  serious  side  of  life, 
for  his  nature  was  so  sympathetic  that  he  suffered 
the  pangs  of  others,  and  at  the  mere  recital  of 
human  grief  his  eyes  would  fill  with  tears.  He 
was  fond  of  acting,  and  could  n't  act  a  bit,  poor 
fellow  !  —  but  it  was  delicious  to  hear  him  recount 
his  failures. 

Mr.  Burton  had  married  Tom's  sister,  and  he 
and  Glessing  traveled  together  through  the  South 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  91 

on  one  of  the  comedian's  starring  trips.  In  Nat- 
chez, Mississippi,  the  manager  offered  to  give 
Tom  a  benefit  if  he  could  prevail  upon  Mr.  Burton 
to  play  for  him.  This  was  arranged,  and  for  two 
days  he  practiced  the  speech  he  intended  to  de- 
liver in  front  of  the  curtain,  as  a  tribute  of  grati- 
tude to  a  generous  public.  He  had  written  it  out, 
and  had  sat  up  all  the  previous  night  to  commit  it 
to  memory.  It  began,  "  Being  totally  unprepared 
for  the  honor  you  have  done  me."  After  rehearsal 
he  walked  out  to  the  edge  of  the  town,  so  that  he 
could  practice  it  in  the  open  air,  where  he  could 
elevate  his  voice  without  disturbing  the  citizens. 
On  his  way  towards  the  woods  he  met  a  drunken 
Indian,  who  was  staggering  from  side  to  side  in 
the  road,  and  flourishing  an  empty  whisky-bottle 
at  the  white  man  in  general  and  Glessing  in  par- 
ticular. When  any  one  is  anxious  to  avoid  a 
drunken  man,  by  some  strange  fascination  the 
intoxicated  person  invariably  makes  directly  for 
him ;  you  may  look  the  other  way,  or  pretend  to 
be  unconscious  of  his  existence,  but  it  's  of  no 
use  :  he  will  introduce  himself.  The  Indian  was  no 
exception ;  for  though  poor  Tom,  who  was  fright- 
ened to  death,  whistled  a  lively  tune  and  looked  up 
at  the  tops  of  the  trees,  the  gentle  savage  would 
not  be  avoided. 

"  Hey  !  you  white  man,  look  me  too.  Me  good 
Indian,  good  Indian.  Yes,  ah?"  said  the  red 
man. 

To  which  Tom  assented  at  once,  most  emphati- 
cally :  "  Certainly,  you  are  a  splendid  Injun  ; 


92  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

you  're  as  good  —  I  may  say  you  are  the  best 
Injun  I  ever  saw." 

"  You  think  me  drunk,  eh  ?  " 

"  Drunk  !  "  said  Tom.  "  No.  Let  me  hear  any 
one  dare  to  say  you  're  drunk,  and  I  11  kill  him. 
Give  me  that  bottle  and  I  '11  kill  him  with  that." 

"No;  me  am  drunk,"  said  the  savage,  glaring 
fiercely  at  Tom. 

1  'You  may  be  a  little  drunk,  but  not  much  — 
just  enough,  eh  ?  "  said  Tom,  desirous  of  agreeing 
to  anything  under  the  circumstances.  The  Indian 
became  sullen  and  moody,  as  if  brooding  on  the 
wrongs  that  the  white  man  had  inflicted  on 
his  ancestors,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Tom 
that  the  United  States  Government,  when  the  In- 
dians got  troublesome,  always  softened  their  anger 
by  the  bestowal  of  costly  presents ;  so,  offering  a 
dollar  to  the  chief,  Tom  bade  him  return  to  his 
wigwam  and  take  some  whisky  home  to  his  squaw 
and  papoose.  The  offering  was  accepted,  and  had 
the  desired  effect.  After  two  or  three  affectionate 
embraces  they  parted,  and  Tom  got  away  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

Finding  himself  once  more  alone,  and  in  a 
secluded  spot,  he  began  to  go  through  his  speech. 
He  tried  various  methods,  first  the  cheerful ; 
stepping  forward  with  bright,  jaunty  manner,  he 
raised  his  voice  in  a  high  key :  "  Ladies  and  gentle- 
men, being  totally  unprepared  for  this  honor."  On 
second  thought,  it  appeared  to  him  that  his  manner 
was  a  little  too  free  and  undignified,  so  he  now 
assumed  the  grave  and  thoughtful.  Placing  one 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  93 

hand  in  his  breast,  and  pulling  his  hair  over  his 
eyes,  to  give  him  a  poetic  and  dreamy  air,  he  paced 
slowly  forward,  and  in  a  solemn,  deep  voice  began 
again :  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  being  totally  un- 
prepared"—  Just  at  this  point  he  raised  his  eyes 
and  observed  the  astonished  heads  of  two  farmers 
peering  over  the  rails  of  a  worm  fence.  He  imme- 
diately gathered  up  his  hat  and  manuscripts  and 
started  for  the  town  at  a  brisk  pace ;  but  remem- 
bering that  the  "good  Injun  "  might  be  in  ambush 
awaiting  his  return,  he  was  forced  to  skirt  the  town 
for  miles  before  he  reached  his  hotel. 

He  would  go  on  by  the  hour  and  tell  such  stories, 
and  was  always  the  most  pleased  when  he  was  the 
hero  of  them  and  placed  in  some  absurd  position. 

About  this  time  I  was  haunted  by  a  professional 
borrower.  Just  eighteen,  and  in  the  receipt  of 
what  was  considered  in  those  days  a  fair  salary,  I 
was  a  shining  mark  for  his  skill,  though  I  was  such 
easy  game  that  I  think  he  held  me  in  slight  con- 
tempt. But,  for  all  this,  he  was  crafty  enough  to 
impress  me  with  the  simplicity  of  his  nature,  and 
what  a  toy  and  plaything  he  had  been  for  fortune's 
sport !  He  was  a  dreadfully  bad  actor  on  the  stage, 
but  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  in  private  life  ;  so 
much  so  that  for  many  weeks  he  tortured  and  de- 
frauded me  with  the  ease  and  confidence  of  a 
master. 

Conventional  beggars  are  as  conventional  as  any 
other  professionals.  That  time-honored  custom  of 
assuming  a  nervous  and  uncertain  manner,  as  if  this 
was  the  first  time  they  were  placed  in  such  a  posi- 


94  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

tion,  is  a  favorite  attitude  with  them  ;  while  in 
reality  they  are  cool  and  collected.  My  tormentor 
was  an  expert,  and  his  costume  quite  a  study  for  an 
amateur  in  the  business.  Although  his  ample  shoes 
were  full  of  gaping  wounds,  they  shone  with  a  high 
polish  that  any  man  might  feel  proud  of;  and  if  his 
tall  hat  was  a  trifle  weak,  it  had  a  gloomy,  ruined- 
tower  look  that  won  him  respect  from  strangers  ; 
and  his  clothes  were  of  a  shabby  black,  just  "  sick- 
lied o'er  with  the  pale  cast "  of  time.  Sometimes 
he  would  meet  me  with  a  sad,  sweet  smile,  clasping 
my  hand  warmly,  and  regarding  me  as  if  I  was  the 
one  ray  of  light  that  illumined  his  gloomy  path.  I 
believe  he  once  said  these  very  words ;  at  all  events 
he  looked  them,  and  at  times  I  really  thought  I 
was.  The  first  thing  a  sly  old  rascal  like  this  does 
is  to  study  the  weak  points  of  his  victims ;  and  he 
knew  mine  better  than  I  did.  He  had  a  large 
supply  of  tears  that  he  could  turn  on  at  will,  and 
after  getting  under  a  full  headway  of  grief  he 
would  revolve  slowly  and  dry  his  eyes  with  his 
back  to  me.  I  used  to  imagine  that  he  did  this  so 
that  I  might  not  observe  him  weep ;  but  since 
then  I  have  thought  differently  of  it. 

He  knew  perfectly  well  when  salary  day  came, 
and  would  waylay  me  at  the  stage  door.  On  these 
occasions  he  would  assume  a  surprised  and  startled 
look,  as  if  we  had  met  quite  by  accident ;  and  then 
he  would  exclaim,  in  a  half- retrospective  tone, 
"  Dear  me  !  dear  me  !  it  must  be  nearly  a  week 
since  we  last  met."  It  was  just  a  week,  to  the 
minute,  and  he  knew  it,  the  villain  !  At  such  times 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  95 

Tom  Glessing  would  fairly  revel  in  my  discomfit- 
ure. If  he  saw  that  my  tormentor  had  button- 
holed me  on  the  corner,  he  would  delight  in  passing 
close  to  us  with  an  "  Ah,  how  are  you  ?  At  it  again, 
eh  ?  "  And  on  he  would  go,  fairly  holding  his  sides 
with  laughter,  while  my  "corkscrew,"  as  Glessing 
used  to  call  him,  was  drawing  the  dollar  notes  out 
of  my  pocket,  one  by  one.  The  most  provoking 
thing  about  the  fellow  was  the  air  of  patronage  he 
assumed  when  negotiating  a  loan  in  our  early 
transactions  he  used  to  make  me  feel  that  he  was 
doing  me  an  immense  favor  by  levying  these  little 
drafts  on  my  slender  income.  He  would  begin  by 
saying  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  regard  he  had 
formerly  felt  for  my  father  he  would  not  demean 
himself  by  sinking  so  low.  I  put  up  with  this  for 
some  time,  not  out  of  any  charity,  for  I  had  gradu- 
ally lost  all  respect  or  pity  for  him,  but  from  a  kind 
of  fear.  He  had  an  overawing  and  at  the  same 
time  despairing  look  that  quite  terrified  me,  and  as 
lately  he  had  hinted  that  the  time  was  drawing  near 
when  he  thought  of  trying  his  luck  in  the  Delaware, 
I  really  feared  he  might  commit  suicide. 

I  can  hardly  describe  what  I  suffered  from  the 
persecutions  of  this  man,  and  it  was  nothing  but  a 
sense  of  shame  at  being  the  dupe  of  such  a  low 
fellow  that  determined  me  to  break  my  bondage 
and  turn  from  him.  When  he  saw  that  I  made  a 
bold  stand  against  him  he  became  abusive  ;  finding 
that  this  did  not  have  the  desired  effect  he  lapsed 
into  the  dismal,  whining  and  mourning  over  his 
crushed  feelings  and  lamenting  his  personal  degra- 


96  T^E-    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

dation.  But  I  had  discovered  his  cloven  foot,  and 
it  was  too  late  for  him  to  attempt  further  im- 
posture. 

Such  men  are  to  be  found  in  all  grades  of  life, 
and  they  are  usually  adroit  and  cunning  fellows, 
attacking  their  victims  right  and  left,  and  using  just 
the  sort  of  weapons  that  are  the  most  difficult  to 
parry.  They  lie  in  ambush  for  the  innocent  trav- 
eler, and  suddenly  pounce  upon  him  with  a  well- 
told  tale,  so  got  by  rote,  and  so  often  rehearsed, 
that  they  act  the  part  of  injured  innocence  to  the 
life.  If  the  victim  be  timid  he  is  lost,  for  they 
recognize  his  nervousness  at  once,  and  browbeat 
him  out  of  his  benevolence. 

This  vile  weed  —  the  borrower  —  grows  and  lux- 
uriates in  all  the  capitals  of  States  and  countries. 
The  ever-changing  soil  of  fresh  visitation  seems 
well  adapted  to  nourish  it.  Sometimes  women 
indulge  in  this  practice,  but  not  often ;  you  are  at 
least  safer  with  them  than  with  the  men,  particu- 
larly if  they  are  old.  A  feeble  old  mendicant  gen- 
erally uses  her  collection  for  some  purpose  that 
gives  her  comfort  at  least.  Coal,  tea,  and  warm 
worsted  stockings  are  necessary,  and  they  must 
and  should  have  them ;  but  the  man  has  many 
avenues  through  which  he  can  filter  your  bounty — 
the  gaming-table,  the  bar-room,  and  worse. 

If  Mr.  Burton  was  not  at  this  time  a  fixed  star, 
he  was  certainly  a  managerial  planet  of  the  first 
magnitude,  and  in  this  position  was  naturally  sur- 
rounded by  a  number  of  small  satellites  that  basked 
in  the  moonshine  of  his  affection.  These  lesser 


WILLIAM     E.    BURTON     AS    "DOCTOR     OLLAPOD. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  97 

lights  seemed  to  gyrate  in  eccentric  orbits,  generally 
going  out  of  their  way  to  carry  tales  to  their  superior. 

Nothing  is  more  distressing  to  the  members  of  a 
stock  company  than  to  have  spies  set  upon  them 
who  eavesdrop  and  report  every  little  trifle  to  the 
manager.  It  is  natural  that  the  occupants  of  the 
dressing-room,  and  even  of  the  greenroom,  when 
the  manager  is  not  present,  should  now  and  then 
indulge  in  the  harmless  amusement  of  criticizing 
and  even  censuring  the  policy  of  the  theater;  it 
serves  to  pass  away  the  time  between  long  waits, 
and,  like  Doctor  Ollapod's  small  dose  of  magnesia, 
does  "  neither  harm  nor  good." 

The  tale-bearing  element  in  Mr.  Burton's  the- 
ater was  fully  organized  under  the  generalship  of 
one  of  the  most  ingenious  informers  that  I  have 
ever  met  with.  If  I  do  not  speak  affectionately  of 
this  gentleman,  it  is  because  I  was  at  that  time 
smarting  under  the  effects  of  one  of  his  secret- 
service  reports  to  the  Star-chamber,  to  which 
apartment  I  had  been  summoned  on  a  charge  of 
"contemplated  desertion."  It  seems  that  I  had 
been  incautiously  bragging  among  my  comrades 
in  the  dressing-room  of  a  large  offer  I  had  re- 
ceived to  leave  the  Arch  and  join  Mr.  Killmist 
at  his  theater  in  Washington,  stating  that  I  was 
shortly  going  to  send  in  my  resignation  to  Mr. 
Burton.  I  had  also  been  abusing  the  manage- 
ment, both  criticizing  and  condemning  its  short- 
sighted policy ;  and  though  there  was  no  stated 
reward  offered  for  the  exposure  of  such  offenses, 
the  informer  was  anxious  to  get  me  out  of  the 


98  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

theater,  looking  for  his  compensation  in  being 
cast  for  some  of  the  good  parts  that  were  already 
in  my  possession. 

I  was  ushered  into  the  manager's  office  by  the 
call-boy,  and  stood  there  like  a  prisoner  ready  to 
be  sentenced  to  the  rack  for  daring  to  express  my 
opinion  of  the  "  powers  that  be."  Mr.  Burton  sat 
in  state  at  the  farther  end  of  a  long  table,  sup- 
ported on  each  side  by  his  stage-manager  and 
the  prompter ;  this  august  tribunal  frowned  on  me 
with  a  most  discharging  countenance  as  I  stood 
before  it.  The  scene  as  I  look  back  at  it  seems 
comical  enough,  but  just  at  that  time  it  was  a  seri- 
ous matter  for  me,  as  my  prospective  engagement 
was  not  positively  settled,  and  under  the  most  fa- 
vorable circumstances  could  not  be  entered  upon 
short  of  two  months,  and  a  dismissal  just  at  that 
time  would  have  been  financially  inconvenient. 
The  accusation  of  a  "  contemplated  desertion " 
being  made,  I  demanded  the  name  of  the  informer. 
This  being  withheld,  I  declined  to  make  any  an- 
swer to  the  charge.  Those  who  remember  Mr. 
Burton's  face  will  recall  its  wonderfully  comical 
expression,  even  when  he  was  serious ;  but  when 
he  assumed  a  look  of  injured  innocence  the  effect 
was  irresistible.  I  did  not  dare  laugh  then,  but 
I  do  enjoy  it  now  when  I  think  of  it.  The  exami- 
nation proceeded,  and  on  the  first  question  being 
again  put  I  acknowledged  the  fact  point-blank, 
stating  also  that  being  engaged  for  no  stated 
length  of  time  I  intended  to  give  the  customary 
notice  and  to  resign. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  99 

The  manager  demanded  to  know  on  what 
grounds  I  presumed  to  take  such  a  step  without 
first  consulting  him.  I  told  him  that  I  had  been 
offered  double  the  salary  I  was  then  receiving. 
Upon  his  asking  who  made  me  worth  "double 
the  salary,"  I  replied  that  I  was  quite  willing  to 
admit  that  he  did,  and  proposed  that  he  should 
give  it  to  me.  At  this  rather  impertinent  remark 
he  waxed  wroth,  and  said  I  was  not  worth  it,  and 
never  would  be  worth  it,  but  that  I  had  been 
insubordinate  and  disloyal  to  him,  and  that  he 
should  take  legal  steps  to  prevent  my  appearing 
at  any  other  theater  if  I  left  him. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Burton  thought  that 
his  denunciation  and  threats  of  an  action  would 
crush  me,  but  he  knew  little  of  human  nature,  for 
I  now  went  up  at  least  one  hundred  per  cent,  in  my 
own  estimation.  The  very  thought  of  being  threat- 
ened with  a  lawsuit  made  me  feel  at  least  an  inch 
taller.  I,  who  up  to  the  present  time  had  thought 
myself  of  small  consequence,  threatened  with  an 
action  for  breach  of  contract !  It  was  delightful ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  drew  myself  up  with 
much  dignity  as  I  informed  him  that  he  could  pur- 
sue whatever  course  he  pleased  in  the  matter  — 
swaggering  out  of  the  room  with  the  defiant  air  of 
a  "  heavy  villain." 

Of  course  quite  a  little  knot  of  actors  were  wait- 
ing at  the  back  door  to  hear  the  result  of  the  trial 
and  learn  the  verdict  of  the  judge.  When  I  in- 
formed them  with  a  lofty  pride  that  I  presumed 
the  affair  would  end  in  a  lawsuit,  they  were 


100  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

amazed.  If  they  had  never  envied  me  before, 
they  certainly  did  now.  It  was  not  a  hanging 
matter,  and  the  most  serious  result  could  not  go 
beyond  "  damages  for  the  plaintiff" ;  and  what 
actor  of  my  position  in  those  days  could  ever  have 
afforded  to  pay  damages  ?  We  might  have  dreaded 
a  long  vacation  in  the  summer,  or  quaked  at  the 
rebuke  of  a  dramatic  critic,  but  the  law !  So  far 
as  damages  were  concerned,  we  defied  it !  The 
case,  however,  never  came  to  trial ;  for  about  a 
week  after  this  the  Washington  theater  was  de- 
stroyed by  fire,  and  I  was  only  too  glad  to  remain 
where  I  was  without  double  the  salary. 

As  an  actor  of  the  old  broad  farce-comedy  Mr. 
Burton  certainly  had  no  equal  in  his  day,  and  his 
dramatic  pictures  of  the  characters  of  Dickens 
would  have  amazed  the  author  if  he  had  been  so 
fortunate  as  to  see  them.  Captain  Cuttle  and 
Micawber  were  his  greatest  achievements ;  his  face 
was  a  huge  map  on  which  was  written  every  emo- 
tion that  he  felt;  there  was  no  mistaking  the 
meaning  of  each  expression.  His  entrance  as  Van 
Dunder,  in  the  drama  of  "The  Dutch  Governor; 
or,  'T  would  puzzle  a  Conjuror,"  was  a  comic  pict- 
ure so  full  of  genius  that  it  stamped  itself  indelibly 
on  the  mind,  an  effect  never  to  be  forgotten.  The 
great  stupid  face  was  a  blank.  The  heavy  cheeks 
hung  down  stolidly  on  each  side  of  a  half-opened 
mouth  ;  the  large,  expressionless  eyes  seemed  to 
look  hopelessly  for  some  gleam  of  intelligence. 
There  he  stood,  the  incarnation  of  pompous  igno- 
rance, with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  The  audi- 


WILLIAM     K.    BURTON     AS    "  CAPTAIN     CUTTLE. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  101 

ence  swayed  with  laughter ;  for,  though  he  had  not 
said  a  word,  they  knew  that  he  had  just  received  an 
important  state  document  and  could  n't  read  it. 

As  a  manager  he  achieved  much  success,  but  met 
with  some  disastrous  failures,  not  seeming  to  under- 
stand the  difference  between  competition  and  oppo- 
sition. The  first  deals  with  our  own  affairs,  and,  if 
pursued  with  honesty  and  industry,  invariably  leads 
to  good  results.  The  latter  meddles  with  the  busi- 
ness of  other  people,  and  generally  brings  about 
the  downfall  of  the  opposer.  Burton  was  always 
temperate,  and  very  industrious ;  he  had  literary 
talent,  too,  as  his  contributions  to  "  The  Gentleman's 
Magazine  "  (which  he  edited)  will  attest.  Edgar 
A.  Poe  was  also  a  contributor  to  this  periodical, 
but  he  and  Burton  were  always  at  "  daggers 
drawn  "  ;  they  had  a  paper  war  for  many  months 
in  Philadelphia,  and  splashed  their  angry  ink  at 
each  other,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  public. 
Poe  lost  his  temper,  and  Burton,  seeing  his  advan- 
tage, fired  off  his  humorous  artillery,  so  that  the 
comedian  got  the  better  of  the  poet.  If  people 
could  only  realize  how  little  the  public  care  for  the 
private  quarrels  of  individuals  —  except  to  laugh  at 
them  —  they  would  hesitate  before  entering  tapdfc  a?  V , 
newspaper  controversy. 

I  have  often  thought  that  Mr.  Burton  must  have1 
had  Irish  blood  in  him,  for  he  was  continually 
spreading  the  tail  of  his  coat  for  a  fight  —  I  mean 
an  intellectual  fight,  as  physically  he  was  not  pug- 
nacious. Quarrelsome  persons  who  do  not  indulge 
in  pugilistic  encounters  are  fond  of  lawsuits;  it  is 


102  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

only  another  way  of  having  it  out,  and  Burton 
must  have  spent  a  fortune  in  fees.  His  humor  on 
the  witness-stand  was  quite  equal  to  that  of  Sam 
Weller.  On  one  occasion,  while  the  actor  was 
going  through  bankruptcy,  an  eminent  lawyer  in 
Philadelphia  thought  he  detected  a  desire  on  Bur- 
ton's part  to  conceal  some  facts  relative  to  a  large 
sum  of  money  that  he  had  made  during  the  pro- 
duction of  the  "  Naiad  Queen."  Rising  with  great 
dignity,  and  glaring  fiercely  at  Burton,  he  de- 
manded, "  What  became  of  that  money,  sir  ?  "  The 
comedian  looked  him  straight  in  the  face ;  then 
rising  in  imitation  of  an  attorney,  he  replied,  "  The 
lawyers  got  it." 

During  the  first  season  that  I  acted  at  the  Arch 
great  preparations  were  made  for  the  production  of 
a  Greek  tragedy,  the  "  Antigone "  of  Sophocles. 
In  a  theater,  as  we  have  seen,  there  are  apt  to  be 
two  or  three  discordant  spirits  that  criticize  and  con- 
demn the  course  of  the  management,  and  I  pre- 
sume that  most  public  institutions  are  honored  by 
small  private  bands  of  conspirators  ;  so  that  on 
being  confronted  by  this  ancient  drama  in  the  green- 
room •  we  naturally  shrugged  our  shoulders  and 

'.•,.''•<       \/ Vioh'd^red   what    Mr.    Burton  meant  by  it.     This 
'.  ft.  w,...j$ame£'. sublime  tragedy  of   "  Antigone  "    had  been 

,•  ';•' ',  ''"•  *'•'  'freely  translated  and  acted  in  Dublin  at  the  Theater 
Royal  some  forty  years  ago.  The  audience  was 
quite  bewildered  by  this  performance,  and  at  the  close 
of  the  play  called  for  the  author  ;  whether  to  applaud 
or  to  chastise  him  does  not  appear.  The  manager 
came  forward  to  apologize  for  the  absence  of  Soph- 


OF  JOSEPH   JEFFERSON  103 

ocles,  but  promised  faithfully  to  produce  him  if 
ever  he  allowed  one  of  his  plays  to  be  acted  under 
his  management  again.  Notwithstanding  that  this 
Greek  tragedy  had  always  failed  to  attract  public 
attention,  our  manager  determined  to  revive  this 
previously  unfortunate  drama.  It  has  been  said 
that  Mr.  Burton  was  classically  educated ;  naturally 
he  felt  justly  proud  of  his  scholastic  attainments, 
and,  having  a  desire  to  display  them,  he  selected 
the  Greek  tragedy  as  just  the  thing  for  its  accom- 
plishment. Apart  from  his  undoubted  claim  to 
erudition,  he  had  that  wonderful  stage  tact  and 
executive  ability  that  thoroughly  qualified  him  for 
the  management  of  a  theater  ;  so  that  whether  he 
had  drunk  deep  at  the  "  Pierian  spring  "  or  not,  he 
certainly  had  quenched  his  thirst  at  the  public  foun- 
tains, and  refreshed  himself  at  all  those  little  intel- 
lectual brooks  that  flow  along  the  roadside  of  ah 
actor's  life.  This  kind  of  knowledge  may  be  super- 
ficial, but  it  is  most  useful  to  an  actor-manager. 

But  to  return  to  "  Antigone."  During  its  re- 
hearsals a  marked  change  came  over  our  manager. 
In  arranging  the  lighter  and  more  colloquial  plays 
he  was  accustomed  to  be  cheerful,  and  rather 
inclined  to  intersperse  his  directions  with  anecdote ; 
but  now  he  assumed  a  dignity  strangely  at  vari- 
ance with  his  usual  manner,  and  we,  the  company, 
who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  associating  his  comical 
figure  with  Paul  Pry  and  Jem  Baggs,  could  scarcely 
be  expected  at  this  short  notice  to  receive  this 
change  of  demeanor  with  the  same  solemnity  with 
which  it  was  given.  Of  course  we  did  not  dare 


104  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

exhibit  our  irreverent  feelings,  for  there  is  no  doubt 
that  had  Mr.  Burton  detected  the  slightest  attempt 
to  guy  either  him  or  his  new  venture  an  immediate 
discharge  of  the  offending  party  would  surely  have 
followed.  Tom  Glessing,  myself,  and  several  minor 
members  of  the  company  had  got  hold  of  some 
Greek  quotations,  and  would  slyly  salute  one 
another  in  the  classic  tongue  when  we  met  at  the 
theater  in  the  morning,  always,  however,  when  the 
manager's  back  was  turned ;  for  if  in  his  presence 
we  had  dared  talk  Greek  we  should  certainly  have 
walked  Spanish. 

I  was  cast  for  one  of  the  unhappy  Chorus, —  I 
think  there  were  four  of  us, —  and  when  the  curtain 
rose  a  more  wretched  looking  quartet  was  never 
seen.  I  think  the  costume  we  wore  was  unfortunate, 
and  added  neither  to  our  comfort  nor  to  our  per- 
sonal appearance.  We  were  crowned  with  four 
evergreen  laurel  wreaths,  which  sat  unsteadily 
upon  our  heads,  and  were  done  up  to  the  chin  in 
white  Grecian  togas.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  W. 
Wallack,  Jr.,  were  in  the  cast,  and  for  their  fine 
declamation  and  classic  tableaux  were  much  ap- 
plauded ;  but  when  we  as  the  Chorus  attempted  to 
explain  what  it  all  meant,  the  effect  upon  the  audi- 
ence was  dreadful. 

The  failure  of  this  sublime  tragedy  caused  Mr. 
Burton  to  be  seriously  out  of  pocket,  as  well  as 
out  of  temper.  He  blamed  first  the  public,  then 
the  unfortunate  Chorus,  and,  finally,  himself. 

In  domestic  matters  I  had  good  opportunity  of 
forming  my  judgment  of  Mr.  Burton,  as  we  were 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  105 

for  some  time  quite  intimate,  and  I  often  visited 
him  at  his  house.  The  affection  he  lavished  upon 
his  children  was  almost  feminine  in  its  warmth  and 
gentleness.  He  had  three  lovely  little  tyrants,  who 
managed  him  quite  as  well  as  he  managed  his 
theater.  They  were  extremely  fond  of  their  father, 
and  he  delighted  to  walk  with  his  lovely  daugh- 
ters and  show  them  off.  I  have  often  met  the 
group  strolling  hand  in  hand  in  Franklin  Square 
on  a  fine  Sunday  morning  in  the  spring,  the  pretty 
little  girls,  tastefully  dressed,  tossing  their  heads 
and  shaking  their  curls  in  childish  vanity,  with  their 
portly  parent  looking  proudly  down  upon  them. 

The  Arch,  during  the  time  I  was  under  Mr.  Bur- 
ton's management,  had  met  with  many  of  those 
vicissitudes  that  were  so  prevalent  in  theatrical 
ventures  when  the  production  of  the  "  Glance  at 
New  York  "  struck  the  popular  taste  of  that  curi- 
ous and  uncertain  element  known  as  the  "public." 
The  "public"  means  in  reality  nobody;  it  is  an 
elastic  term ;  we  are  indeed  prone  to  call  every  one 
the  public  but  ourselves.  We  wonder  that  the  pub- 
lic can  support  this  or  that  trashy  entertainment, 
forgetting  that  we  have  been  to  see  it  once,  and 
perhaps  twice.  "Life  in  London,"  upon  which  the 
"  Glance  at  New  York  "  was  founded,  ran  for  two 
seasons  in  London,  when  both  lords  and  ladies 
went  in  crowds  to  witness  the  vulgarities  of  low 
life;  the  knocking  down  of  watchmen,  the  upset- 
ting of  an  old  woman's  apple  stall,  and  the  dancing 
of  Dusty  Bob  and  African  Sal  occupied  the  atten- 
tion and  delighted  the  audience  of  seventy  years  ago. 


106  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Years  before,  Monk  Lewis's  melodrama  of  "Cas- 
tle Spectre,"  a  ghostly  and  ghastly  piece  of  business, 
drew  crowds  of  people,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  works 
of  Shakspere,  Sheridan,  and  Goldsmith.  Nonde- 
script actors,  of  the  ranting  and  fantastic  school, 
were  in  demand,  while  the  Kembles  and  a  host  of 
great  comedians  were  playing  to  empty  benches. 
Likewise,  we  find  Colley  Gibber  complaining  that 
in  his  day  the  legitimate  drama  had  fallen  so  low  in 
the  estimation  of  the  public  that  he  and  his  com- 
pany of  fine  comedians  were  put  aside  and  made 
subservient  to  the  Italian  singers  and  French  ballet 
dancers  that  then  flooded  England. 

We  must  not  always  condemn  the  public  of  the 
present  day  for  these  curious  characteristics  which 
seem  to  have  come  to  them  by  a  legitimate  inheri- 
tance. Besides,  there  may  be  a  necessity  for  this 
seeming  inconstancy,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that 
the  mind  requires  now  and  then  a  change  of  diet 
as  the  stomach  does ;  the  palate  being  satiated 
with  rich  and  delicate  viands  often  craves  a  little 
coarser  food,  if  only  to  assist  digestion. 

But  to  return  to  Mr.  Burton  and  his  new  vent- 
ure. The  great  success  of  the  "  Glance  at  New 
York"  caused  him  to  look  in  that  direction  him- 
self. A  full  treasury  had  excited  his  ambition,  so 
he  proceeded  to  New  York  and  purchased  Palmo's 
Opera  House  for  the  purpose  of  opening  it  as  a 
comedy  theater.  He  was  an  early  riser,  very  in- 
dustrious, and  extremely  temperate.  These  qual- 
ities, combined  with  energy  and  an  inordinate 
ambition  to  lead,  made  him  a  formidable  adver- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  107 

sary  for  Mr.  Mitchell,  who  was  then  in  the  very 
height  of  prosperity  at  the  Olympic.  This  latter 
gentleman,  like  Mr.  Burton,  was  a  comedian  and 
a  manager  of  rare  ability ;  he  had  surrounded 
himself  with  an  excellent  company  of  actors  and 
actresses,  who  were  so  quaint  and  so  well  chosen 
that  the  dramatic  treats  given  at  the  "  Little 
Olympic"  became  the  rage  and  talk  of  the  town. 
Mr.  Burton  saw  this,  and  his  desire  for  a  dramatic 
battle  urged  him  to  oppose  Mitchell,  and  this  he 
did  with  much  force  and  judgment,  bringing  to  bear 
the  heaviest  theatrical  artillery  that  New  York  had 
ever  seen.  When  I  say  that  these  great  guns  con- 
sisted of  William  Rufus  Blake,  Henry  Placide,  W. 
E.  Burton,  John  Brougham,  Lester  Wallack,  Oliver 
Raymond,  Lysander  Thompson,  and  Charles  Burke, 
I  think  that  those  who  remember  these  extraordi- 
nary actors  will  fully  agree  with  the  statement.  I 
do  not  think  that  Lysander  Thompson  and  Charles 
Burke  were  with  the  company  at  this  time,  but 
they  joined  it  afterward.  In  the  midst  of  this 
conflict  between  the  managers  Mr.  Mitchell  was 
stricken  with  paralysis;  this  rendered  the  contest 
still  more  unequal,  and  the  "  Little  Olympic " 
surrendered. 

To  give  some  idea  of  the  excellence  with  which 
Mr.  Burton's  plays  were  cast,  I  may  mention  that 
I  saw  Shakspere's  comedy  of  "  Twelfth  Night " 
produced  at  his  theater  with  Blake  as  Malvolio, 
Placide  as  the  Fool,  Burton  as  Sir  Toby  Belch, 
Lester  Wallack  as  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek,  and 
Miss  Weston  as  Viola.  I  do  not  believe  that  this 


108  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

play  has  been  acted  with  greater  skill  since  Shak- 
spere  wrote  it,  although  there  is  no  denying  that, 
with  regard  to  scenic  effects,  costumes,  ingenious 
stage-management,  and  elaborate  ornamentation, 
the  Shaksperean  productions  of  our  own  time  far 
exceed  those  of  the  earlier  revivals. 

Burton's  ambition  to  succeed  in  the  various  tasks 
he  had  set  himself  was  strongly  fortified  by  his 
quick  apprehension  and  great  versatility.  He  was 
at  the  same  time  managing  the  Arch  Street  Theater 
in  Philadelphia,  the  Chambers  Street  Theater  in 
New  York,  acting  nightly,  and  studying  new  char- 
acters as  fast  as  they  came  out.  In  addition  to 
these  professional  duties,  he  was  building  a  country 
residence  at  Glen  Cove,  writing  stories  for  the 
magazines,  and  taking  prizes  at  the  horticultural 
shows  for  hot-house  grapes  and  flowers.  If  his 
success  and  happiness  were  marred,  it  can  only  be 
attributed  to  his  too  great  ambition  ;  this  trait  led 
him  to  oppose  everything  that  came  within  range, 
and  at  times  he  would  even  go  out  of  his  way  to 
search  for  a  new  antagonist.  In  a  fit  of  excitement, 
brought  on  by  some  domestic  shock,  he  was  sud- 
denly stricken  down,  and  never  rose  again.  Dur- 
ing his  last  hours  he  was  lovingly  attended  by  his 
daughters,  who  had  grown  up  to  womanhood,  and 
I  am  told  by  one  who  was  present  that  the  parting 
with  them  touched  the  hearts  of  all  who  saw  it. 

It  was  a  rare  treat  to  see  Burton  and  Burke  in 
the  same  play :  they  acted  into  each  other's  hands 
with  the  most  perfect  skill ;  there  was  no  striving  to 
outdo  each  other.  If  the  scene  required  that  for 


C  BURKE.  AMERICAN   COMEDIAN. 

,«,  •'•  in.  Comedy,  JSrania,,  farce,  %•  JlwZeffzvt. . 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  109 

a  time  one  should  be  prominent,  the  other  would 
become  the  background  of  the  picture,  and  so 
strengthen  the  general  effect;  by  this  method  they 
produced  a  perfectly  harmonious  work.  For  in- 
stance, Burke  would  remain  in  repose,  attentively 
listening  while  Burton  was  delivering  some  humor- 
ous speech.  This  would  naturally  act  as  a  spell 
upon  the  audience,  who  became  by  this  treatment 
absorbed  in  what  Burton  was  saying,  and  having 
got  the  full  force  of  the  effect,  they  would  burst 
forth  in  laughter  or  applause ;  then,  by  one  accord, 
they  became  silent,  intently  listening  to  Burke's 
reply,  which  Burton  was  now  strengthening  by  the 
same  repose  and  attention.  I  have  never  seen  this 
element  in  acting  carried  so  far,  or  accomplished 
with  such  admirable  results,  not  even  upon  the 
French  stage,  and  I  am  convinced  that  the  impor- 
tance of  it  in  reaching  the  best  dramatic  effects 
cannot  be  too  highly  estimated. 

It  was  this  characteristic  feature  of  the  acting  of 
these  two  great  artists  that  always  set  the  audience 
wondering  which  was  the  better.  The  truth  is 
there  was  no  "better"  about  the  matter.  They 
were  not  horses  running  a  race,  but  artists  painting 
a  picture ;  it  was  not  in  their  minds  which  should 
win,  but  how  they  could,  by  their  joint  efforts, 
produce  a  perfect  work.  I  profited  very  much  by 
these  early  lessons. 

Dying  at  the  age  of  thirty-two,  it  is  wonderful 
that  Charles  Burke  left  such  an  enduring  reputation 
as  an  actor.  I  do  not  mean  that  his  fame  lives  with 
the  general  public,  but  his  professional  brethren 


110  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

accorded  to  him  the  rarest  histrionic  genius.  I 
have  sometimes  heard  comparisons  made  between 
Burton  and  Burke,  but  they  were  so  widely  differ- 
ent in  their  natures  and  their  artistic  methods  that 
no  reasonable  parallel  could  be  drawn.  Burton 
colored  highly,  and  laid  on  the  effects  with  a  liberal 
brush,  while  Burke  was  subtle,  incisive,  and  refined. 
Burton's  features  were  strong  and  heavy,  and  his 
figure  was  portly  and  ungainly.  Burke  was  lithe 
and  graceful.  His  face  was  plain,  but  wonderfully 
expressive.  The  versatility  of  this  rare  actor  was 
remarkable,  his  pathos  being  quite  as  striking  a 
feature  as  his  comedy.  He  had  an  eye  and  face 
that  told  their  meaning  before  he  spoke,  a  voice 
that  seemed  to  come  from  the  heart  itself,  pene- 
trating, but  melodious.  He  sang  with  great  taste, 
and  was  a  perfect  musician.  His  dramatic  effects 
sprung  more  from  intuition  than  from  study ;  and, 
as  was  said  of  Barton  Booth,  "  the  blind  might 
have  seen  him  in  his  voice,  and  the  deaf  have 
heard  him  in  his  visage." 

Although  only  a  half-brother,  he  seemed  like  a 
father  to  me,  and  there  was  a  deep  and  strange 
affection  between  us.  As  I  look  back  I  can  recall 
many  social  and  professional  sacrifices  that  he  made 
for  me,  and  my  love  for  him  was  so  great  that  if 
we  were  absent  from  each  other  for  any  length  of 
time  my  heart  would  beat  with  delight  at  his  ap- 
proach. It  is  scarcely  fair  to  intrude  upon  the 
reader  one's  domestic  affections,  but  I  am  irresist- 
ibly impelled  to  write  these  words.  And  so  they 
must  stand. 


CHAPTER  V 

STOCK,  STAR,    AND  STAGE  MANAGEMENT 

From  Stock  to  Star  —  From  Star  to  Stock —  The 
Elder  Booth  as  "Sir  Giles  Overreach" —  The 
Southern  Theatrical  Circuit  —  A  Wandering 
Star — The  Balcony  Scene  —  Julia  Dean  — 
Legitimate  Comedy  —  James  E.  Murdoch  — 
Henry  Placide  —  A  Play  an  Animated  Pict- 
ure—  Edwin  Forrest 

THERE  is  nothing  a  young  actor  enjoys  more 
than  itinerant  theatricals.  It  is  so  grand  to 
break  loose  from  a  big  tyrant  manager  in 
the  city  and  become  a  small  tyrant  manager  in  the 
country.  I  was  one  of  those  juvenile  theatrical 
anarchists  who,  after  having  stirred  up  a  rebellion 
in  the  greenroom,  would  shout  to  my  comrades, 
"Let  's  all  be  equal,  and  I  '11  be  king!"  I  had 
annual  attacks  of  this  revolutionary  fever,  and 
having  saved  up  all  my  salary  during  the  regular 
winter  season  would  lose  it  patriotically  in  the 
summer.  It  was  on  the  eve  of  one  of  these  ex- 
cursions that  I  received  my  first  telegram.  It  came 
in  the  form  of  a  despatch  from  my  partner,  who 


112  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was  in  Baltimore,  I  being  in  Cumberland.  I  could 
not  believe  it,  but  there  it  was ;  a  reply  to  my 
letter  of  the  day  previous,  which  he  could  have 
received  only  an  hour  before  the  message  was 
delivered  to  me.  I  called  at  the  office  to  inquire  if 
it  were  really  so :  yes,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
about  it.  A  small  group  of  people  had  col- 
lected about  the  operator,  some  having  received 
messages  of  congratulation  at  the  establishment  of 
the  line,  others  sending  messages  away  to  the  same 
effect,  and  all  wearing  a  look  of  surprise  and 
incredulity.  We  began  showing  one  another  our 
despatches,  and,  looking  with  respectful  awe  at  the 
mysterious  little  machine  that  was  ticking  away  as 
if  worked  by  some  invisible  spirit  of  the  other 
world,  wondered  what  they  would  do  next.  The 
whole  town  was  greatly  excited  about  it.  People 
were  running  to  and  fro  with  little  messages  in  their 
hands,  and  stopping  one  another  in  the  street  to 
talk  and  wonder  over  the  new  event.  If  I  were 
now  to  receive  a  message  from  the  planet  Mars 
offering  me  a  star  engagement,  I  could  not  be 
more  astonished  than  I  was  on  that  day. 

It  is  said  that  the  man  who  invented  spectacles 
was  imprisoned  for  daring  to  improve  on  the  eye- 
sight that  God  had  given  us;  and  that  these  com- 
forts of  old  age  were  called  the  "  Devil's  eyes." 
So,  in  the  height  of  this  telegraphic  novelty,  did 
many  wise  old  Solons  shake  their  solemn  heads, 
declaring  that  the  wrath  of  God  would  fall  on 
those  who  dared  to  take  a  liberty  with  lightning. 
The  people  with  universal  consent  made  the  occa- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  113 

sion  a  holiday,  and  as  this  was  our  opening,  in  the 
evening  the  hall  was  full. 

We  should  have  considered  it  a  good  house  if 
the  receipts  had  reached  forty  dollars ;  but  when 
I  made  up  the  account  I  found  myself  in  posses- 
sion of  more  than  a  hundred  dollars,  all  in  silver. 
Loaded  down  with  this  weighty  fortune  I  started 
after  the  play  for  the  hotel,  being  supported  on 
each  side  by  the  walking  gentleman  and  the 
property  man,  utilizing  them  as  a  body-guard 
lest  I  should  be  waylaid  and  robbed.  In  this 
flush  of  fortune,  and  as  a  requital  for  their  valua- 
ble services,  I  stood  treat  to  my  escort  and  dis- 
missed them  for  the  night.  My  room  was  in  the 
third  story,  so  there  was  no  fear  of  burglars  from 
without;  but  as  I  fancied  that  every  robber  in 
town  must  by  this  time  be  in  full  possession  of 
all  the  information  concerning  my  acquisition,  I 
ascended  the  stairs  with  a  solitary  tallow  candle 
and  a  nervous  step.  The  long,  dark  entry  seemed 
so  very  favorable  for  an  attack  that  at  each  land- 
ing I  imagined  that  I  should  be  stabbed  in  the 
back.  I  thought  it  therefore  just  as  well  to  hum 
a  tune  in  a  careless  way,  as  though  I  was  quite 
used  to  this  sort  of  thing,  and  thoroughly  prepared 
for  any  emergency.  Sauntering  slowly  along  to 
the  tune  of  "  My  Pretty  Jane,"  I  reached  the  door 
of  my  room,  which  I  entered  as  quickly  as  possible, 
locking  it  at  once.  The  next  thing  was  to  dispose 
of  my  treasure,  which  I  did  by  placing  it  between 
the  mattresses  of  the  bed.  I  spread  it  all  out  so  as 
to  make  it  look  like  a  good  deal  when  my  partner 


114  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

arrived.  One  always  takes  delight  in  showing 
his  partner  how  well  things  have  gone  during  his 
absence ;  it  is  so  delightful  to  make  him  feel  that 
he  is  not  of  half  so  much  importance  as  he  thinks  he 
is.  Having  placed  the  chair  under  the  knob  of  the 
door,  I  could  see  no  chance  for  a  successful  bur- 
glary unless  the  operator  came  down  the  chimney. 
I  confess  this  rather  worried  me,  as  I  felt  that 
in  the  event  of  his  making  a  descent  upon  me  by 
the  flue  I  could  not  possibly  keep  him  out  with 
the  blower.  I  went  to  bed  with  the  idea  that  I 
should  be  found  murdered  in  the  morning,  and 
dropped  off  to  sleep  dreaming  of  Jack  Sheppard. 

At  daylight  I  was  startled  by  a  loud  knock  at 
the  door.  "  Who  's  there  ?  "  I  said,  still  somewhat 
alarmed.  "Sefton,"  said  the  voice  of  my  partner. 
"Are  you  sure?"  said  I.  "  Of  course  I  am,"  he  re- 
plied. I  opened  the  door  and  admitted  him. 
"  How  was  the  house  ?  "  was  the  first  question.  I 
made  no  reply,  but  turned  down  the  mattress  and 
displayed  the  full  receipts  to  his  astonished  gaze. 

Now  our  managerial  labors  began  in  earnest. 
The  town  did  not  contain  more  than  five  hundred 
playgoers,  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  change  the 
performance  nearly  every  night.  After  the  play 
we  would  go  out  and,  taking  our  property  man 
with  us  as  an  assistant,  put  up  our  own  bills. 
This  we  continued  to  do  until  at  last  our  financial 
condition  enabled  us  to  afford  the  luxury  of  a  bill- 
poster. 

No  one  who  has  not  passed  through  the  actual 
experience  of  country  management,  combined  with 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  115 

acting,  can  imagine  the  really  hard  work  and  anx- 
iety of  it — daily  rehearsals,  constant  change  of 
performance,  and  the  continual  study  of  new  parts; 
but,  for  all  this,  there  was  a  fascination  about  the 
life  so  powerful  that  I  have  known  but  few  that 
have  ever  abandoned  it  for  any  other.  It  had  a 
roving,  joyous,  gipsy  kind  of  attraction  in  it  that 
was  irresistible.  Who  would  not  rather  play  a 
good  part  to  a  bad  house  than  a  bad  part  to 
a  good  house?  —  ay,  even  if  he  were  the  man- 
ager !  Then  just  think  of  the  eagerly  looked-for 
criticism  in  the  morning  papers,  of  no  consequence 
to  the  world  at  large,  but  of  much  importance  to 
the  actor :  how  anxious  I  used  to  be  in  the  morn- 
ing to  see  what  the  critic  said,  quickly  scanning 
the  article  and  skipping  over  the  praise  of 
the  other  actors,  so  as  to  get  to  what  they  said 
about  me.  Then  after  breakfast,  sauntering  down 
to  the  drug-store  where  the  reserved  seats  were  for 
sale  :  not  to  look  at  the  diagram  to  see  how  the  seats 
were  selling — certainly  not,  that  would  appear  un- 
dignified; but  just  to  inquire  if  there  were  any  letters. 
These  were  the  delights  that  always  sweetened  the 
poverty  that  went  hand  in  hand  with  country  act- 
ing. In  the  present  instance  we  were  in  possession 
of  a  gold  mine.  We  had  captured  the  town,  having 
been  the  first  to  attack  it. 

It  is  seldom  that  partners  in  theatrical  manage- 
ment agree.  Wood  and  Warren,  of  Philadelphia, 
were  never  on  very  friendly  terms,  and  Ludlow 
and  Smith  were  in  partnership  for  many  years 
without  exchanging  a  word  except  on  business. 


116  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

How  they  managed  it,  or  rather  mismanaged  it, 
I  can't  tell.  Sefton  and  I  were  but  human  beings, 
and  this  sudden  success  had  the  same  demoralizing 
effect  on  my  partner  and  myself.  He  was  obstinate, 
and  so  was  I. 

Dogberry  says,  "An  two  men  ride  of  a  horse, 
one  must  ride  behind."  Now  as  neither  of  us  would 
consent  to  take  this  undignified  seat,  I  sold  Sefton 
my  share  of  the  animal  and  retired ;  he  vaulted  into 
the  vacant  saddle  and  rode  his  charger  to  death. 
About  three  months  afterward  I  received  a  letter 
from  him — business  had  been  bad,  and  he  was  in 
great  distress  —  urging  me  to  play  a  week  with 
him.  I  did  so,  partly  to  help  my  old  partner,  and 
partly  to  see  my  name  in  large  letters.  This  was 
the  first  time  I  had  ever  enjoyed  that  felicity,  and 
it  had  a  most  soothing  influence  upon  me.  My 
hotel  was  just  opposite  the  hall,  and  when  I  arose 
in  the  morning  and  looked  across  the  street  I  gazed 
delightedly  upon  my  name  in  bold  "  Roman  caps.," 
though  I  was  much  annoyed  at  seeing  the  citizens 
pass  by  this  important  announcement  without 
taking  any  notice  of  it ;  and  the  conduct  of  two 
strangers  who  met  precisely  in  front  of  the  theater 
and  began  an  earnest  conversation,  without  deign- 
ing to  bestow  a  glance  at  the  bill-board,  was 
positively  insulting. 

I  had  to  contend  on  my  opening  night  with  a 
local  favorite  in  the  shape  of  a  rival  comedian. 
This  was  no  easy  matter,  for  not  only  was  he  a 
clever  actor,  but  a  feeling  had  been  engendered 
among  his  many  friends  that  I  had  entered  into 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  117 

a  dark  conspiracy  with  the  manager  to  dethrone 
him.  I  had  acted  here  the  season  before,  and  was 
something  of  a  favorite,  so  my  reception  was  very 
cordial ;  but  as  soon  as  it  ceased  I  was  greeted 
with  a  storm  of  hisses.  This  sudden  and  unlooked- 
for  demonstration  took  the  audience  and  me  by 
surprise,  and  of  course  checked  the  progress  of  the 
play.  In  the  midst  of  this  confusion  my  rival  was 
loudly  called  for  by  his  friends,  at  which  the  cur- 
tains of  a  private  box  were  violently  shaken,  then 
jerked  apart,  and  in  the  opening  appeared  the 
form  of  my  rival.  He  stepped  unsteadily  upon 
the  stage ;  one  side  of  his  trousers  had  crawled  up 
his  leg,  revealing  an  untied  shoe,  the  brim  of  his 
hat  was  slightly  bent,  and  he  swayed  from  side  to 
side  with  folded  arms  and  disheveled  hair.  There 
was  a  mingled  air  of  defiance  and  melancholy  in 
his  looks,  plainly  showing  that  he  was  not  only 
persecuted  but  intoxicated.  The  wild  encourage- 
ments from  his  friends  clearly  proved  that  they 
were  in  the  same  condition,  indicating  that  the 
entire  party  had  partaken  freely  of  "  Dutch  cour- 
age "  in  order  to  stimulate  them  for  the  fray.  After 
a  maudlin  speech,  which  first  amused  and  then  bored 
the  audience,  he  was  led  from  the  stage  and  the  play 
proceeded. 

Actors  in  sickness  or  distress  are  proverbially 
kind  to  one  another,  but  little  professional  mis- 
understandings will  take  place  now  and  then. 
Some  overzealous  defenders  of  our  art  have 
asserted,  I  think  erroneously,  that  no  true  artist 
is  jealous  of  another.  This  is  going  a  little  too  far, 


118  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  giving  us  credit  for  more  virtue  than  we  pos- 
sess. Jealousy  is  unfortunately  an  inborn  quality, 
entirely  independent  of  art.  If  a  man  has  this  un- 
fortunate passion  he  feels  it  whether  he  is  a  true 
artist  or  not.  In  this  instance  my  rival  was  a  good 
actor,  but  not  too  good  to  be  jealous  of  me,  and  if 
our  positions  had  been  reversed  the  chances  are  that 
I  would  have  been  jealous  of  him. 

It  was  during  this,  my  first  star  engagement, 
that  I  received  a  telegram  announcing  the  sad 
intelligence  of  my  mother's  death.  I  started  at 
once  for  Philadelphia,  but  by  some  accident  was 
detained  on  the  road  for  two  days,  arriving  too 
late  to  look  upon  her  face.  My  brother,  my  sister, 
and  I  passed  a  week  together  after  the  burial 
of  my  mother,  and  then  separated,  they  returning 
to  New  York,  whence  they  had  been  summoned, 
and  I  remaining  in  the  city  to  look  after  an 
engagement. 

On  the  corner  of  Ninth  and  Chestnut  streets 
stood  the  Amphitheater.  At  this  establishment  in 
the  winter  season  the  circus  used  to  amalgamate 
with  a  dramatic  company  and  make  a  joint  appear- 
ance in  equestrian  spectacles,  which  were  produced 
under  the  stage  management  of  Mr.  Joseph  Foster. 
This  gentleman  had  studied  in  the  best  school  of 
the  highly  colored  melodrama — Astley's,  on  the 
Surrey  side  of  London.  He  came  to  America  as 
property  man  with  Cook's  company  somewhere 
about  1836;  in  this  position  he  continued  for  some 
years,  ultimately  joining  the  Amphitheater  in  Phil- 
adelphia. His  industry,  backed  up  by  long  experi- 


CORNELIA  JEFFERSON  (MOTHER  OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON). 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  119 

ence,  made  him  so  valuable  that  he  soon  became 
stage-manager,  and  was  holding  this  position  when 
I  called  on  him  to  apply  for  a  situation  as  comedian. 
He  had  been  prepared  for  the  visit,  having  heard 
something  to  my  advantage  as  an  actor,  but  he 
was  undoubtedly  disappointed  with  me  at  first 
sight.  As  I  entered  the  managerial  sanctum,  he 
lowered  his  bushy  eyebrows  and  scowled  at  me 
with  anything  but  an  engaging  expression  of 
face. 

"  Humph!"  was  all  I  could  catch  of  his  first  greet- 
ing. Then,  after  a  slight  pause,  he  said,  "  Oh,  you 
are  the  new  young  comedian,  eh  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  replied.  "There  is  no  doubt  about 
my  being  young ;  but  how  much  of  a  comedian  I 
am  remains  to  be  seen." 

" Humph!  quite  modest  too.  Modesty  is  a  good 
thing  if  it  is  not  carried  too  far,"  he  said.  "  Humph ! 
where  have  you  been  acting  lately  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  had  just  finished  a  starring 
engagement  in  Cumberland. 

"  Starring,  oh  !  Then  you  are  not  so  modest  after 
all,"  he  replied.  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard  that 
my  present  comedian  is  a  failure  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  the  welcome  news  had  reached 
me,  and  as  I  had  also  been  informed  that  in  con- 
sequence of  this  the  gentleman  was  about  to  retire 
from  the  Amphitheater,  I  made  bold  to  apply  for 
the  vacancy. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Foster,  "my  funny  man  is  cer- 
tainly the  most  dismal  piece  of  humanity  I  have  ever 
met  with.  I  engaged  him  on  his  face.  I  never  saw 


120  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

such  a  comical  outside  belonging  to  such  a  serious 
inside.  The  man's  '  mug'  is  as  funny  as  Liston's — 
whom  he  resembles,  too,  very  much;  large,  round 
eyes,  fat  chops,  and  a  turned-up  nose.  I  thought 
when  I  first  saw  him  that,  like  the  milkmaid,  his 
face  was  his  fortune ;  but  no,  as  soon  as  he  opens 
his  mouth  all  the  humor  seems  to  vanish.  But 
now  about  yourself.  I  suppose  you  know  that 
our  plays,  such  as  '  Mazeppa,'  '  Dick  Turpin,' 
'  Timour  the  Tartar,'  '  The  Terror  of  the  Road,' 
are  not  celebrated  for  good  low  comedy  parts ; 
the  actor  has  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  to  do.  It 
is  what  I  call  physical  comedy ;  and  you  are  too 
light  for  that  kind  of  business,  I  fancy." 

I  told  him  that  I  regretted  this,  for  if  he  engaged 
me  by  the  pound,  my  salary  would  perhaps  be  as 
light  as  myself. 

"  But  you  do  not  look  like  a  comedian,"  said  he 
to  me.  "  You  have  a  serious,  melancholy  expres- 
sion ;  you  look  more  like  an  undertaker." 

This  last  remark  was  rather  crushing,  so  I 
endeavored  to  put  on  a  jovial,  quizzical  expres- 
sion, and  failed.  In  a  short  time  we  arranged 
terms — twenty  dollars  a  week,  with  a  third-clear 
benefit.  The  engagement  being  settled,  he  gave 
me  a  part  to  study  for  the  next  play.  I  acted  all 
this  season  at  the  Amphitheater,  and  a  curious 
experience  it  was.  The  low  comedian  of  a  melo- 
dramatic theater  is  generally  used  as  a  stop-gap, 
and  his  artistic  efforts  are  confined  to  going  on 
in  "front  scenes"  and  amusing  the  audience,  if 
he  can,  by  speaking  some  long,  dry  speech,  sup- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  121 

posed  to  be  full  of  humor,  while  the  carpenters  are 
hammering  away  behind  and  noisily  arranging  an 
elaborate  set.  Under  these  conditions  it  is  very 
difficult  to  gain  the  confidence  of  an  audience,  or 
to  distract  their  attention  away  from  the  painful 
fact  that  there  is  a  hitch  in  the  scenery.  They 
seem  to  know  that  something  has  gone  wrong, 
and  decline  to  be  consoled  by  a  feeble  comic 
song. 

Upon  the  initial  performance  of  the  nautical 
drama  of  "  Captain  Kidd,"  Mr.  Foster  had  given 
me  a  long,  dismal  ditty  to  sing,  in  order  that  I 
might  divert  the  audience  in  case  of  an  accident. 
It  was  privately  understood  between  us  that  as 
soon  as  the  scene  was  ready  he  would  wave  his 
hat  at  me  from  the  wing  as  a  sign  that  everything 
was  right ;  then  I  was  to  finish  my  song  and  make 
my  exit.  The  much-dreaded  accident  occurred, 
and  I  was  deputed  to  go  on  and  distract  the  audi- 
ence, which  I  certainly  did.  The  lines  of  the  song 

ran  thus : 

My  name  is  Captain  Kidd, 

As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 

And  wickedly  I  did,  as  I  sailed,  etc. 

There  were  just  twenty-five  of  these  stanzas, 
equally  humorous  and  grammatical.  The  audi- 
ence bore  them  patiently  for  the  first  time,  but 
when  I  looked  towards  the  wing  for  a  comforting 
wave  of  Foster's  hat,  to  my  horror  he  was  not 
there ;  so  I  began  again.  It  is  said  that  republics 
will  endure  tyranny  with  more  fortitude  than 
empires,  but  it  is  possible  that  I  had  gone  too  far 


122  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

even  for  the  forbearance  of  our  free  institutions, 
for  many  voices  in  the  audience  cried  out:  "  No 
more !  We  can't  stand  that  again."  Other  re- 
marks were  made  too  numerous  and  uncompli- 
mentary to  mention.  I  still  tried  to  get  a 
hearing  "  as  I  sailed " ;  but,  with  the  hammering 
behind  the  scenes  and  the  hooting  in  front,  my 
efforts  failed  to  make  any  impression,  so  I  retired 
amidst  the  confusion. 

Of  all  theatrical  entertainments,  the  equestrian 
drama  is  perhaps  the  most  absurd.  The  actor  and 
the  horse  refuse  to  unite ;  there  is  nothing  of  the 
centaur  about  them.  I  have  seen  the  tyrant 
Timour  the  Tartar  stride  about  the  stage  tem- 
pestuously, inspiring  the  audience  with  the  idea 
that  nothing  could  daunt  the  imperious  spirit 
within  him,  but  as  soon  as  he  espied  the  prancing 
steed  that  was  to  bear  him  to  victory  his  passion 
cooled,  and  with  a  lamb-like  submission  he  would 
allow  himself  to  be  boosted  up  into  the  saddle, 
where  he  would  sit  unsteadily,  looking  the  picture 
of  misery. 

Foster  was  a  short,  stout  man,  but  extremely 
active,  and  as  alert  as  a  lynx.  Nothing  escaped 
his  quick  eye.  If  the  house  was  crowded  and  the 
drama  going  well,  he  was  the  personification  of 
good-nature.  At  such  times  he  would  stand  with 
his  legs  wide  apart,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  his  face  beaming  with  smiles,  and  his  eyes 
fairly  glistening  with  delight ;  but  if  the  slightest 
hitch  took  place  in  the  performance,  he  knew  it 
in  an  instant.  He  would  then  jump  as  if  he  were 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  123 

shot,  rush  to  the  wing,  shake  his  fist  at  the 
delinquent,  and  taking  his  high,  black-silk  hat 
off  his  head  would  trample  it  under  his  feet  in 
frenzy. 

The  grand  spectacular  drama  of  "Mazeppa" 
was  announced  for  the  Easter  holidays,  and  was 
produced  with  great  splendor.  Charles  Foster,  a 
son  of  the  manager,  was  cast  for  the  hero.  He 
was  a  handsome,  dashing  young  fellow,  possessed 
of  considerable  dramatic  talent,  and,  added  to  this, 
was  one  of  the  finest  riders  I  have  ever  seen :  his 
graceful  figure  and  youthful  appearance  fitted  him 
perfectly  for  the  romantic  lover  of  the  Princess.  The 
announcement  that  this  drama  was  to  be  produced 
caused  a  slight  commotion  in  the  theater,  for  there 
was  attached  to  the  company  an  old  melodramatic 
actor  by  the  name  of  Cartlidge ;  he  had  been  a 
leading  man  of  Astley's  Amphitheater  in  London 
during  the  days  of  the  famous  Ducrow,  and  was 
now  seventy  years  of  age.  I  met  him  at  the 
greenroom  door  just  as  he  came  in  to  look  at 
the  cast.  "  I  hear  they  are  going  to  play  '  Ma- 
zeppa,'" he  said,  with  some  agitation.  "  Is  this 
true?"  "Yes,"  I  said;  "there  is  the  cast."  He 
went  over  to  the  cast-case  and  looked  at  it  in  mute 
bewilderment,  and  then,  as  if  he  could  not  believe 
his  eyes,  took  out  his  spectacles,  wiped  the  glasses, 
put  them  on,  and  stood  for  a  long  time  gazing  in 
blank  amazement  at  the  cast.  As  he  turned  around 
I  saw  tears  in  his  eyes.  He  walked  slowly  out 
of  the  greenroom,  and,  going  into  a  dark  corner  of 
the  stage,  sat  down  despondently.  I  knew  pretty 


124  JHE 

well  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  so  I  thought 
I  would  go  up  and  comfort  the  old  man,  for  he 
was  usually  cheerful,  and  it  was  sad  to  see  him  so 
dejected. 

I  sat  down  beside  him  and  asked  him  what  was 
the  matter.  He  took  out  a  large  handkerchief, 
and,  burying  his  face  in  it,  began  to  sob.  After 
he  had  recovered  himself  he  said,  "  Foster  has  cast 
me  for  the  Khan''  Then  turning  on  me  with  his 
eyes  full  of  tears  and  a  retrospective  look  in 
his  face,  he  continued :  "  Young  man,  I  was  the 
original  Mazeppa  fifty  years  ago,  and  now  I  am 
cast  for  Mazeppa  s  father.  Why  should  I  not  play 
Mazeppa  still?  I  may  be  a  little  too  old  for  it, 
but  —  "  Here  he  broke  down  again,  and  as  he  sat 
there  with  his  eyes  and  his  spectacles  both  full  of 
tears  he  looked  more  like  Mazeppa  s  grandfather 
than  like  Mazeppa.  The  fact  is,  if  he  had  been 
cast  for  the  part  he  would  have  realized  that  the 
time  had  gone  by  for  him  to  look  or  act  it,  and 
he  would  have  declined:  the  self-inflicted  blow 
would  have  fallen  lightly  on  him ;  but  to  receive 
the  stroke  from  another  hand  was  more  than  he 
could  bear.  It  made  him  feel  that  he  had  outlived 
his  usefulness,  and  brought  before  his  mind  the 
glowing  days  of  his  youth  when  he  had  been 
the  idol  of  Astley's.  The  painful  truth  that  he 
was  getting  old  and  was  no  longer  wanted  came 
suddenly  upon  him. 

It  is  natural  that  the  world  should  smile  at  the 
old  and  senile  as  they  are  pushed  aside,  but  no 
deposed  emperor  feels  the  force  of  compulsory 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  125 

abdication  more  than  the  stage  king  who  has  out- 
lived the  liking  of  the  people. 

"  St.  George  and  the  Dragon "  was  the  grand 
final  production  of  the  season.  I  was  not  in  the 
play,  so  I  saw  the  first  performance  from  the  front 
of  the  theater.  The  opening  act  ends  where  the 
seven  champions  of  Christendom  assemble  to  have 
a  conference,  pledging  themselves  to  stand  by  one 
another  in  any  emergency.  The  glittering  armor 
of  the  knights,  and  the  prancing  of  the  fiery  steeds 
as  the  grooms  led  them  on,  stirred  the  audience  to 
enthusiasm. 

Young  Foster  was  a  picture  as  the  gallant  St. 
George  of  England.  His  manly  form  was  encased 
in  a  rather  vulnerable  armor  of  pure  spangles,  and 
he  shone  like  a  sheet  of  silver.  At  a  given  cue  he 
vaults  into  the  saddle,  and  waving  his  bright  sword 
and  throwing  back  his  fine,  classic  head,  he  shouts, 
11  Up,  knights,  and  away  ! "  Now  St.  Denis  of 
France,  St.  Patrick  of  Ireland,  St.  David  of  Wales, 
St.  Andrew  of  Scotland,  and  one  or  two  other 
knights  mount  their  chargers  and  gallop  away, 
following  their  leader,  the  gallant  St.  George,  as 
the  curtain  falls  upon  the  animated  scene.  It  so 
happened  that  St.  Denis  of  France  and  St.  Andrew 
of  Scotland  had  been  cast  to  two  actors  who  were 
not  what  would  be  called  daring  horsemen.  All  of 
the  knights  with  the  exception  of  these  two  mounted 
their  horses  and  galloped  off  in  the  interest  of  Chris- 
tendom with  unmistakable  ardor.  But  the  steeds  of 
St.  Denis  and  St.  Andrew  had  but  little  faith  in 
their  knights,  and  the  knights  seemed  to  have  no 


126  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

faith  in  themselves.  This  timidity  communicated 
itself  from  one  to  the  other,  and  as  the  riders 
hopped  about  on  one  leg  trying  to  mount,  the 
horses  kept  going  slowly  round  to  avoid  any  fur- 
ther intimacy.  The  audience  was  roaring  with 
laughter,  and  I  knew  by  this  time  that  Foster  was 
standing  on  his  hat,  if  not  on  his  head.  At  last 
the  knights  made  a  powerful  effort  to  "  bestride 
their  foaming  steeds."  St.  Denis,  being  very  tall, 
scrambled  up,  but  overshot  the  mark.  "He  o'er- 
leaped  his  saddle,"  so  that  his  head  hung  on  one 
side  and  his  heels  on  the  other,  while  the  horse 
kept  going  round  with  him  in  this  dreadful  posi- 
tion. At  this  juncture  the  curtain  came  down, 
cutting  off  the  other  knight,  St.  Andrew,  and  shut- 
ting him  outside  of  it  and  close  to  the  footlights. 
Unfortunately  in  the  excitement  of  mounting  this 
gentleman  had  got  the  wrong  foot  in  the  stirrup, 
so  that  the  gallant  Scotchman  found  himself  in 
pursuit  of  glory  with  his  face  towards  the  horse's 
tail.  Finding  that  he  would  make  but  little  pro- 
gress towards  Christendom  in  this  position,  he  slid 
gently  off  behind,  still  clinging  to  the  bridle,  while 
the  horse  dragged  the  unlucky  warrior  across  the 
front  of  the  stage.  The  audience  shouted  as 
the  animal  pulled  his  rider  along.  The  horse 
now  changed  his  tactics,  and  standing  upon  his 
hind  legs  came  slowly  but  surely  towards  St. 
Andrew,  who  scrambled  for  protection  into  the 
nearest  private  box.  The  horse,  still  on  his  hind 
legs,  looked  down  on  the  orchestra  as  if  meditat- 
ing a  descent  upon  the  musicians,  at  which  the 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  127 

entire  band  fled  "  for  safety  and  for  succor,"  some 
of  them  retreating  under  the  stage,  while  the 
majority  scattered  among  the  audience.  The  cur- 
tain had  to  be  raised  and  a  groom  sent  on  to  take 
the  poor  frenzied  animal  in.  There  was  now  some 
anxiety  to  know  what  had  become  of  St.  Andrew. 
That  gallant  Highlander,  seeing  that  the  coast 
was  clear,  jumped  out  of  the  private  box  where 
he  had  been  concealed  behind  the  curtains,  and, 
half  denuded  of  his  armor,  rushed  frantically  across 
the  stage  and  darted  behind  the  curtain  amid  the 
unqualified  approbation  of  the  audience. 

I  was  not  twenty-one  at  this  time,  but  being  an 
old  young  man,  and  looking  upon  life  perhaps 
more  seriously  than  one  should  at  my  age,  I 
bethought  me  that  it  was  time  to  marry  and  settle 
down  in  life.  My  brother  strongly  objected  to 
this ;  he  believed  that  I  was  too  young,  and  I 
believed  that  he  was  jealous.  The  first  serious 
words  we  ever  had  were  in  relation  to  my  pros- 
pective marriage,  he  insisting  that  my  wife  and 
I  had  not  known  each  other  long  enough  to  form 
any  estimate  as  to  the  strength  of  our  attach- 
ment; but  I  was  obstinate,  and  the  wedding 
came  off. 

I  wished  this  marriage  to  take  place  privately, 
well  knowing  that  otherwise  my  friends  of  the 
company,  from  the  leading  man  down,  would  be 
at  the  wedding  in  full  force,  not  so  much  out  of 
compliment,  perhaps,  as  for  the  purpose  of  indulg- 
ing in  that  passion  for  quizzing  which  seems  to 
be  so  deeply  planted  in  the  histrionic  breast.  My 


128  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

betrothed  desired  that  the  ceremony  should  be 
solemnized  in  church,  fearing  that  ill-luck  would 
follow  if  it  came  off  at  any  other  place.  I  con- 
sented to  this.  Now  I  hate  to  be  quizzed,  and 
I  think  most  ^eople  do ;  particularly  those  who 
indulge  in  the  habit  of  quizzing  others.  Revolving 
in  my  mind,  therefore,  the  best  method  of  avoid- 
ing ridicule,  I  boldly  told  the  company  that  I  was 
to  be  married  at  church  the  following  Sunday, 
after  the  morning  service,  and,  well  knowing  that 
they  were  coming,  invited  them  to  witness  the 
ceremony. 

The  important  day  arrived.  My  new  lavender 
suit  fitted  me  to  perfection ;  none  of  your  ready- 
made  affairs,  but  got  up  by  a  first-class  Chatham 
street  tailor,  and  embodying  in  its  value  the  sav- 
ings of  two  months'  salary.  With  a  beating  heart, 
and,  if  I  remember  rightly,  a  pair  of  tight  boots,  1 
led  my  young  bride  to  the  altar.  The  wedding 
took  place  at  the  old  church  in  Oliver  street ;  Bar- 
ney Williams  and  my  sister  acted  as  groomsman 
and  bridesmaid.  After  the  ceremony  was  over, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams  expressed  their  surprise  at 
the  extreme  privacy  of  the  whole  affair.  Williams 
hinted  that  he  had  understood  that  the  whole  com- 
pany would  be  present  in  full  force.  "  So  they 
would  have  been,  Barney,"  said  I,  "but  I  have  sent 
them  to  the  wrong  church." 

I  was  at  the  time  of  my  marriage  acting  at  the 
Chatham  Theater  in  New  York.  By  my  brother's 
influence  I  was  put  forward  more  rapidly  than  my 
merits  deserved ;  at  least,  I  think  so  now,  though 


. 


JUNIUS     BRUTUS     BOOTH     AS     "RICHARD    THE    THIRD.' 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  129 

at  that  time  I  was  quite  confident  that  my  ability 
was  fully  equal  to  the  demands  made  upon  it 

When  but  twenty-two  years  of  age  I  was  cast 
for  Marrallm  "A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts," 
the  elder  Booth  playing  Sir  Giles  Overreach. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  fact  that  I  was 
entirely  unfit  for  so  important  a  part ;  it  is  a  very 
difficult  one,  and  to  give  it  effect  requires  that  an 
actor  should  be  in  his  prime,  both  as  to  his  age  and 
his  talent  A  mere  boy,  with  but  little  physical  or 
dramatic  strength,  coming  upon  the  stage  to  re- 
hearse so  important  a  character,  must  have  been 
rather  a  shock,  and  somewhat  of  a  disappointment, 
to  the  great  actor  whom  he  was  to  support  But 
Mr.  Booth  wisely  made  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain, 
and,  instead  of  annihilating  me  with  a  look,  took 
much  pains  to  teach  me  the  business  of  the  part 
Surely  this  was  better  than  disapproval  or  petu- 
lance; for  as  it  was  I  acquitted  myself  respect- 
ably, whereas  it  is  most  likely  that  I  should  have 
done  the  reverse  had  I  met  with  discouraging 
treatment 

The  elder  Booth's  acting  of  Sir  Giles  was  indeed 
something  to  be  remembered.  During  the  last 
scene  he  beats  Marrall,  who  hides  for  protection 
behind  Lord  Lovell.  Booth's  face,  when  he  found 
he  could  not  reach  his  victim,  had  the  look  of  an 
uncaged  tiger.  His  eyes  flashed  and  seemed  to 
snap  with  fire ;  his  nostrils  dilated ;  his  cheeks  ap- 
peared to  quiver ;  his  half-opened  mouth,  with  its 
thin  lips  pressed  tightly  against  the  white  teeth, 
made  a  picture  of  anger  fearful  to  look  upon.  At 


130  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  point  where  he  is  about  to  draw  his  sword  his 
arm  shakes,  his  right  hand  refuses  to  do  its  office, 
and,  stricken  with  paralysis,  he  stands  the  embodi- 
ment of  despair ;  then  come  his  terrible  words  of 
anguish  and  self-reproach  : 

Some  undone  widow  sits  upon  mine  arm, 

.        .         .         my  sword, 
Glued  to  my  scabbard,  with  wronged  orphans'  tears. 

His  whole  frame,  shaken  with  convulsions,  seems 
to  collapse,  his  head  sinks  upon  his  breast,  his  jaw 
drops,  and  the  cruel  man  is  dead.  There  was  no 
applause  the  night  I  speak  of;  the  acting  was  so 
intense  and  so  natural  that  the  mimic  scene  seemed 
really  to  have  happened. 

Mr.  Barton  Hill  related  to  me  an  incident  that 
occurred  during  Mr.  Booth's  performance  of  this 
same  part  of  Sir  Giles  Overreach.  Mr.  Hill  was 
acting  Lord  Lovell,  and  in  the  scene  where  the 
crafty  Sir  Giles  is  endeavoring  to  court  the  favor 
of  his  lordship  a  large,  white  ostrich  feather,  which 
formed  one  of  the  plumes  in  LovelVs  hat,  became 
by  some  accident  detached,  and  fell  in  the  center 
of  the  stage.  A  conspicuous  object  like  this,  had 
it  been  allowed  to  remain  where  it  fell,  would  have 
marred  the  effect  of  the  scene.  Booth,  seeing  the 
mishap,  came  quickly  forward,  and,  raising  the 
feather  from  the  floor,  presented  it  with  becoming 
humility  to  its  owner.  This  admirable  point  not 
only  removed  the  obstacle,  but  heightened  the 
effect  of  the  situation.  Here  was  a  display  not 
merely  of  presence  of  mind,  but  of  good  taste.  It 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  131 

is  quite  likely  that  the  audience  thought  it  a  part 
of  the  play,  and  a  good  part  of  it  too. 

After  two  seasons  of  metropolitan  stock  acting, 
a  restless  desire  for  country  management  again 
seized  me.  These  attacks  seemed  to  have  been 
periodical,  resolving  themselves  into  a  sort  of  dra- 
matic ague,  breaking  out  at  regular  intervals. 
The  fit  at  this  time  having  laid  violent  hands  upon 
me,  I  entered  into  partnership  with  Mr.  John 
Ellsler,  whose  veins  became  infused  with  the  virus 
of  my  managerial  enthusiasm.  The  inoculation 
must  have  taken  admirably  too,  for  he  has  been  in 
management  ever  since. 

I  have  seldom  had  an  attack  of  the  old  com- 
plaint. In  fact,  I  may  add  that  the  symptoms 
have  entirely  disappeared,  and  in  the  present  en- 
joyment of  my  convalescence  I  do  not  see  any 
likelihood  of  a  relapse.  I  do  not  mean  by  these 
remarks  to  disparage  theatrical  management ;  on 
the  contrary,  I  look  upon  the  manager  of  a  stock 
theater,  containing  a  stock  company,  as  a  hero 
and  a  public  benefactor.  To  be  successful,  he 
must  combine  force  of  character  and  self-control 
with  artistic  taste  and  executive  talent.  He  stands 
between  the  public  and  the  actor,  the  actor  and 
the  author ;  he  must  judge  them  all,  and  unite 
them  harmoniously.  To  contemplate  the  amount 
of  skill  and  industry  that  is  lavished  on  the  splen- 
did dramatic  productions  of  to-day  is  appalling  to 
a  man  who  wishes  to  enjoy  a  good  night's  rest. 
If  you  have  a  passion  for  the  dog,  the  rod,  the 
gun,  the  yacht,  or  the  country,  don't  think  of  en- 


132  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

tering  into  theatrical  management.  The  eye  of 
the  master  is  absolutely  imperative  in  the  conduct 
of  a  theater,  and  only  those  succeed  who  give  it 
their  undivided  attention. 

But  to  return  to  the  managerial  partnership 
between  Mr.  Ellsler  and  myself.  The  relations 
between  us  were  very  pleasant,  for  as  our  lines  of 
business  were  quite  distinct,  there  was  no  profes- 
sional jealousy.  Besides  this,  our  duties  in  the 
management  differed  widely ;  consequently  we 
never  clashed.  He  had  full  control  of  the  front  of 
the  house,  while  I  managed  behind  the  curtain, 
and  I  think  we  enjoyed  the  fullest  confidence  in 
each  other. 

Our  season  in  Macon  was  quite  good,  but  in 
Savannah  our  fortunes  had  a  reverse.  From  some 
unknown  cause  the  business  here  was  very  bad. 
I  say  "from  some  unknown  cause,"  for  it  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  members  of  the  theatrical  profession 
to  attribute  their  failures  to  anything  or  everything 
else  but  themselves.  It  is  so  disheartening  to  feel 
that  we  are  responsible  for  the  disaster.  In  mer- 
cantile affairs,  if  losses  are  incurred,  the  loser  can 
console  himself  with  the  fact  that  it  is  the  merchan- 
dise that  is  worthless  ;  if  an  artist's  picture  be  re- 
fused admittance  to  the  gallery,  it  is  his  work  that 
is  disregarded  ;  but  if  an  actor  fails,  it  is  himself 
who  is  neglected.  The  mortification  of  a  personal 
and  public  slight  is  so  hard  to  bear  that  he  casts 
about  for  any  excuse  rather  than  lay  the  blame 
upon  himself.  This  is  unfortunate,  for  if  we  only 
had  the  courage  to  acknowledge  that  the  fault  lies 


THE     SAVANNAH     THEATER     PREVIOUS    TO     1884. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  133 

within  ourselves,  we  could  more  speedily  set  it 
right ;  but  to  go  groping  on  in  the  dark,  with  the 
blind  consolation  that  others  are  to  blame,  only  re- 
tards our  advancement. 

As  I  had  been  married  a  year,  and  our  first  child 
had  just  been  born,  I  was  naturally  beginning  to 
feel  the  weight  of  a  new  responsibility. 

It  has  always  been  my  habit,  when  anything  im- 
portant is  to  be  thought  over,  to  get  off  alone 
somewhere  in  the  woods,  or  to  lock  myself  up  in  a 
room,  where  I  can  turn  the  matter  over  quietly. 
I  had  left  the  theater  after  rehearsal  and  was  walk- 
ing along  in  search  of  some  solitary  place  where  I 
could  ruminate. 

Savannah  is  a  lovely  city  at  all  times,  but  in 
April  it  is  like  fairy-land.  The  beautiful  Southern 
houses  of  semi-tropical  architecture  are  surrounded 
with  live-oak  and  magnolia  shade-trees,  and  the 
gardens  are  laden  with  flowers.  The  city  was 
peaceful  and  quiet — too  much  so  for  a  manager  in 
distress.  The  air  was  redolent  of  orange-blossoms 
and  bad  business.  I  was  looking  down  one  of  the 
long,  solitary  avenues  of  trees  for  which  this  city  is 
famous,  when  in  the  distance  I  espied  the  tall  fig- 
ure of  a  man  walking  leisurely  towards  me.  His 
height  was  so  enormous  that  I  thought  some  opti- 
cal illusion  caused  by  the  long  vista  through  which 
I  was  looking  had  elongated  the  gentleman  beyond 
his  natural  proportions.  No  ;  as  he  came  nearer 
he  seemed  to  get  taller  and  taller ;  he  was  at  least 
six  feet  six  inches  in  height.  He  sauntered  lei- 
surely along  with  an  elegant  carriage  and  an  aristo- 


134  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

cratic  bearing,  not  assumed,  but  perfectly  natural. 
I  had  never  seen  this  man  until  now,  but  I  imagined 
that  I  knew  who  he  was,  for  if  I  was  not  mistaken 
in  his  height  and  appearance  I  had  already  heard 
of  him.  As  we  approached  nearer,  his  ease  and 
confident  manner  were  almost  impertinent.  He 
had  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  with  the  other 
slowly  twirled  a  long,  gold-headed  cane.  As  we 
met,  there  was  on  his  handsome  face  a  self-sufficient 
smile,  and  he  turned  his  large  eyes  from  one  side 
of  the  street  to  the  other,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  owned  half  of  Savannah,  and  was  contemplat- 
ing the  possibility  of  getting  a  mortgage  on  it  with 
the  ultimate  view  of  purchasing  the  rest  of  the  city. 
After  we  had  passed  I  turned  to  look  back,  and 
found  that  he  had  done  the  same.  We  were  both 
caught  dead  :  there  was  no  disguising  it,  so  we  ap- 
proached each  other. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  I,  "  if  I  am  mistaken,  but 
are  you  not  Sir  William  Don  ?  " 

"  Quite  right,  old  chap.  How  are  you  ?  "  he  re- 
plied. We  shook  hands  and  there  was  a  pause. 
He  looked  at  me  with  a  quizzical  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  and  said  :  "  Well,  which  is  it  —  Jefferson  or 
Ellsler?  You  can't  be  both,  you  know." 

I  laughed  heartily  at  this ;  not  so  much  at  what 
he  said,  which  was  commonplace  enough,  but  at  the 
way  in  which  he  said  it.  I  thought  to  myself, 
"This  must  be  a  great  comedian."  *He  saw  he 
had  made  a  hit,  and  laughed  in  the  enjoyment  of  it. 

"My  name  is  Jefferson,"  said  I.  "Mr.  Ellsler 
is  my  partner." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  135 

"  Well,  Jeff,  old  fellow  "  (as  if  he  had  known  me 
all  his  life),  "  I  '11  be  frank  with  you.  Here  I  am, 
a  star  in  search  of  a  manager." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  will  be  equally  frank  with 
you.  I  am  a  manager  in  search  of  a  star." 

"  Capital !  "  said  he.     "  Will  I  do  ? " 

"  Will  you  do  ?  You  are  the  very  man,"  I  replied. 

"Hurrah!  We  will  play  'Box  and  Cox'  to- 
gether." Then  throwing  his  arms  around  me,  he 
quoted  from  the  farce,  "  '  You  are  my  long-lost 
brother!'" 

"  Sit  down,"  said  I,  as  we  came  to  a  bench,  "and 
we  will  talk  terms." 

"What  are  you  going  to  offer  me?  Don't  be 
modest  —  put  it  high.  '  Lay  on,  Macduff,  and 
damned  be  him  who  first  cries,  Hold  enough ! ' ' 

In  our  present  delightful  frame  of  mind  there  was 
no  difficulty  in  settling  terms — we  both  would  have 
agreed  to  anything.  I  told  him  I  would  give  him 
one-third  of  the  gross  receipts,  with  a  half  clear 
benefit  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

"  Quite  right ;  anything  you  like.  But  will  your 
partner  ratify  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said.  "  He  attends  to  the  financial 
part  of  the  business,  leaving  all  matters  connected 
with  the  stage  to  me ;  though,  of  course,  I  must 
consult  him  before  we  consider  the  matter  settled. 

We  walked  to  the  theater,  and  I  introduced 
Ellsler  to  Don,  telling  my  partner  of  the  arrange- 
ment we  had  made.  He  acquiesced  at  once,  and 
seemed  quite  as  much  pleased  at  the  prospect  of 
the  baronet's  engagement  as  I  was. 


136  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"  Stop,"  said  Don  ;  "  I  have  just  thought  of  it. 
My  wardrobe  is  in  Charleston.  Can  we  get  it  here 
by  Monday  ?  " 

"  Yes;  but  we  must  send  for  it  at  once,"  said  I. 

"  All  right,"  he  replied.  "  Just  let  me  have 
fifty  dollars,  and  I  will  telegraph.  It  's  in  pawn, 
you  know." 

"In  pawn?"  said  I. 

"  Yes ;  I  lost  a  hundred  dollars  at  poker  (queer 
kind  of  game,  is  n't  it?)  on  the  steamer  coming 
from  New  York ;  so  I  was  dead  broke  when  I  got 
to  Charleston,  and  I  left  my  traps  at  my  '  uncle's ' 
for  money  to  pay  my  bill  at  the  hotel,  you  know — 
the  Charleston  Hotel,  is  n't  it  ?  Large  columns 
outside  —  tough  steak  inside." 

Matters  were  all  settled,  and  a  bill  for  the  first 
night  was  arranged  —  "  Used  Up  "  and  "  The 
Rough  Diamond."  Sir  William  told  me  that  he 
had  a  number  of  letters  to  the  first  people  in 
Savannah. 

"  Don't  lose  a  moment,"  said  I.  "  Deliver  them 
at  once.  This  will  sound  your  arrival  through  the 
city." 

"  All  right"  said  he  ;  "  I  'm  off.  I  wish  you 
could  go  with  me ;  I  should  like  you  to  see  how 
I  cultivate  a  new  acquaintance.  No  ?  Very  well — 
by-by."  And  away  he  went,  taking  such  enor- 
mous strides  that  he  looked  like  the  Colossus  of 
Rhodes  at  the  beginning  of  a  walking-match. 

My  partner  and  I,  congratulating  ourselves  on 
this  new  treasure,  began  making  preparations  for 
the  opening.  As  I  had  predicted,  the  quiet  city 


SIR     WII.UAM     DON. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  137 

began  to  stir  with  an  undercurrent  of  aristocratic 
emotion.  As  the  week  wore  on  the  tide  swelled, 
and  by  Monday  had  reached  the  high-water  mark 
of  excitement. 

The  theater  on  Sir  William  Don's  opening  night 
presented  a  picture  of  beauty  and  refinement.  Fam- 
ilies that  seldom  visited  the  house,  except  on  the 
conventional  Friday  night,  crowded  the  auditorium; 
costly  silks  and  laces  fluttered  in  the  dress  circle,  and 
old-fashioned  rose  and  table-cut  diamonds  glittered 
in  the  private  boxes.  Elderly  dames  with  their  white 
hair  dressed  a  la  pompadour,  and  with  long  and 
brilliant  pendants  in  their  ears,  nodded  majestically 
to  one  another,  and  prim  old  gentlemen  in  stiffly 
starched  cravats  looked  coldly  on.  A  live  baronet 
was  on  view! 

The  curtain  rose,  and  the  play  proceeded  quietly 
until  at  last  some  action  revealed  that  the  new  star 
was  about  to  shine.  The  audience  leaned  forward 
as  the  center  doors  opened  and  the  baronet  stalked 
upon  the  stage.  As  he  appeared  the  applause  broke 
forth;  fans  and  handkerchiefs  were  waved  at  him 
from  all  directions,  and  kid  gloves  were  ruined  in 
frantic  enthusiasm.  The  audience  at  last  quieted 
down  and  the  scene  proceeded.  The  people  in 
front  seemed  anxious  and  nervous :  I  was  in  the 
same  condition,  for  I  saw  that  Don,  with  all  his 
assurance,  was  suffering  from  stage  fright.  His 
face  was  pale  as  death,  and  he  cast  his  eyes  down 
on  the  stage.  I  knew  the  latter  was  a  bad  symp- 
tom ;  he  wanted  encouragement.  I  was  at  the 
first  wing,  and  catching  his  eye  gave  him  an 


138  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

approving  nod.  He  seemed  to  take  courage, 
and,  as  the  audience  began  to  enjoy  his  acting, 
warmed  up.  He  finished  the  great  speech  of  the 
scene,  ending  with,  "  I  have  been  to  the  top  of 
Vesuvius  and  looked  down  the  crater;  there  is 
nothing  in  it."  He  did  this  admirably,  receiving 
a  tremendous  round  of  approbation.  As  he  saun- 
tered up  the  stage  he  again  caught  my  eye ;  and 
giving  me  a  comical  wink  as  the  applause  was 
continued,  he  said,  so  that  I  could  hear  him,  though 
the  audience  could  not :  "  It 's  all  right,  old  chap, 
I  Ve  got  'em." 

His  engagement  proved  a  great  financial  success. 
I  was  disappointed  in  his  acting :  he  was  amusing 
and  effective,  but  he  was  an  amateur  from  head  to 
foot,  which  in  his  case  meant  a  good  deal.  I  am 
of  opinion  that  "  once  an  amateur,  always  an  ama- 
teur." There  are  many  good  actors  that  have  this 
peculiar,  raw  quality  who  have  been  on  the  stage 
for  years ;  and  it  is  because  they  begin  their  careers 
by  acting  leading  characters.  Mrs.  Mowatt  and 
James  H.  Hackett  were  examples  of  many  in  our 
profession  who  have  committed  this  fatal  error. 
No  matter  how  bold  and  dashing  they  may  appear, 
there  is  a  shyness  and  uncertainty  about  everything 
they  do.  It  exhibits  itself  in  the  casting  of  the 
eyes  down  upon  the  stage  in  an  embarrassed  way 
just  after  they  have  made  a  point.  This  is  very 
disastrous.  When  a  strong  effect  is  made  the  eye, 
the  pose,  the  very  feeling,  should  be,  for  an  instant 
only,  a  picture,  till  the  public  digest  it.  If  it  is  dis- 
turbed by  some  unmeaning  movement  the  strength 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  139 

is  lost,  and  the  audience  will  at  once  discover  that 
they  are  not  looking  at  a  master.  This  character- 
istic of  the  amateur  may  wear  off  in  some  instances, 
but  I  do  not  remember  any. 

Sir  William  went  with  us  to  Wilmington,  North 
Carolina,  where  we  opened  with  the  stock,  he  ap- 
pearing at  the  beginning  of  the  second  week.  The 
audience  here  did  not  like  his  acting ;  they  seemed 
to  prefer  our  domestic  goods  to  the  imported  arti- 
cle. He  saw  this,  but  did  not  seem  to  mind  it,  and 
so  bowed  to  the  situation.  He  became  very  much 
attached  to  the  company  and  remained  with  us 
some  time,  joining  in  our  fishing  and  boating  par- 
ties. His  animal  spirits  were  contagious ;  and  as 
we  had  no  rehearsals,  the  mornings  at  least  were 
devoted  to  amusement.  We  would  do  the  most 
boyish  and  ridiculous  things.  Three  or  four  of  us, 
himself  the  central  figure,  would  go  through  ex- 
travagant imitations  of  the  circus  and  acrobatic 
feats  that  were  then  in  vogue.  "The  Bounding 
Brothers  of  the  Pyrenees  "  was  a  particular  favorite 
with  him.  We  would  pretend  to  execute  the  most 
dangerous  feats  of  strength  —  lifting  imaginary 
weights,  climbing  on  one  another's  shoulders  and 
then  falling  down  in  grotesque  and  awkward  atti- 
tudes, and  suddenly  straightening  up  and  bowing 
with  mock  dignity  to  an  imaginary  audience. 
Once  he  did  an  act  called  the  "  Sprite  of  the  Silver 
Shower,"  pretending  to  be  a  little  girl,  and  tripping 
into  the  circus  ring  with  a  mincing  step.  Then, 
with  a  shy  look,  he  would  put  his  finger  in  his 
mouth,  and  mounting  a  table  would  go  through  a 


140  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


daring  bareback  feat.     Nothing  that    I  ever  saw 
was  more  extravagant. 

While  in  New  York  during  the  next  summer,  I 
got  the  following  note  from  Don  : 

ST.  NICHOLAS  HOTEL,  June  25,  1851. 

MY  DEAR  JEFF  :  I  have  just  arrived  from  Boston,  where  I 
have  been  playing  a  bad  engagement.  The  modern  Athens  was 
not  overwhelmed  by  my  nobility.  The  critics  went  so  far  as  to 
say  that  I  was  anything  but  a  good  actor.  What  execrable  taste  ! 
Well,  here  I  am  at  the  St.  Nicholas.  Fine  rooms,  but  abomi- 
nable cooking  ;  everything  tastes  alike.  I  am  beginning  to  think 
that  the  Frenchman  was  right  when  he  said  that  in  America  you 
had  fifty  religions  but  only  one  gravy.  When  shall  I  dine  with 
you  ?  Make  it  early.  I  will  drop  in  just  as  one  of  the  family  — 
pot-luck,  you  know.  Do  not  put  yourself  out  for  me  ;  a  pair  of 
canvasback  ducks  and  a  bottle  of  Johannisberg,  or  two  ;  am  not 
particular.  Yours,  DON. 

The  day  for  the  dinner  was  arranged  —  the 
Fourth  of  July  ;  but  as  it  would  have  needed  a 
journey  to  the  coast  of  Labrador  to  get  a  pair  of 
canvasback  ducks  at  that  time  of  the  year,  I  ordered 
roast  beef  and  plum  pudding  instead.  The  occa- 
sion being  a  patriotic  one,  as  far  as  the  date  was 
concerned,  it  struck  me  that  an  English  dinner 
would  be  in  good  taste  for  Sir  William.  But  we 
were  doomed  to  disappointment,  for  at  ten  o'clock 
in  the  morning  a  strange  man  came  to  the  door 
and  gave  me  the  following  note  from  Don  : 

LUDLOW  STREET  JAIL,  July  4,  1851. 

MY  DEAR  JEFF  :  You  will  see  by  the  heading  of  this  that  I 
have  changed  my  hotel.  Was  it  you  or  your  father  who  wrote 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  ?  If  it  was  your  ancestor,  you 
are  not  responsible,  and  I  have  nothing  to  say;  but  if  "in  the 
course  of  human  events  "  it  was  yourself,  never  hope  to  be  for- 


MRS.   J.    H.    AI.LEN. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  141 

given.  See  what  that  absurd  and  unimportant  document  has 
brought  me  to.  If  America  were  still  one  of  her  Majesty's  col- 
onies, an  English  nobleman  would  not  be  treated  with  this  dis- 
respect. Here  I  am  languishing  in  prison  because  some  old  Jew 
says  I  borrowed  one  hundred  dollars  from  him  on  false  pretenses. 
(He  may  think  himself  lucky  that  it  was  not  a  thousand.)  I 
said  that  I  would  pay  him  out  of  the  money  I  made  in  Boston. 
Well,  I  did  not  make  any  money  in  Boston,  so  I  looked  upon 
the  matter  as  settled.  Come  and  see  me.  If  you  have  never 
been  in  this  establishment  it  will  be  quite  a  treat  for  you. 

Yours,  DON. 

Don  was  a  singular  character,  at  once  generous 
and  unjust,  genial  and  slightly  cruel.  He  would 
borrow  from  his  friend  for  the  purpose  of  lending 
to  his  enemy.  His  wit  was  charming  and  original, 
and  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  his  own  brilliancy, 
apparently  setting  no  value  on  it.  He  had  that 
thorough  contempt  for  tradesmen  which  stamps 
this  type  of  English  aristocracy,  and  he  would  walk 
ten  miles  to  help  an  old  woman  or  to  escape  from 
a  tailor. 

The  love  of  management  still  clung  to  me,  and 
my  partner  sharing  my  enthusiasm,  we  resolved  to 
make  another  trial  of  our  fortunes  in  the  Southern 
circuit.  Our  limited  means  compelled  us  to  adopt 
the  most  economical  mode  of  transportation  for  the 
company.  It  was  settled,  therefore,  as  it  was  nec- 
essary, that  we,  the  managers,  should  arrive  at 
least  a  week  in  advance  of  the  opening  of  the  sea- 
son :  our  passage  must  be  made  by  rails  while  the 
company  were  to  proceed  by  sea. 

There  was  in  those  days  a  line  of  schooners  that 
plied  between  Wilmington,  N.  C.,  and  New  York. 


142  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

The  articles  of  transportation  from  the  South  con- 
sisted mainly  of  yellow  pine,  tar,  and  resin,  which 
cargo  was  denominated  "  naval  stores."  Feeling 
confident  that  we  could  procure  cheap  passages  for 
our  company  by  contracting  with  one  of  these  ves- 
sels to  take  them  to  Wilmington,  we  determined 
to  conclude  a  bargain  with  the  owners. 

The  arrangement  was  made  at  a  rate  that  suited 
all  parties  except,  perhaps,  the  members  of  the 
company,  who,  I  fear,  had  some  slight  misgivings 
lest  they  were  to  be  conveyed  to  their  destination 
as  a  kind  of  ballast.  The  day  was  fixed  for  their 
departure,  and  Mr.  Ellsler  and  I  went  down  to 
the  wharf  at  Peck  Slip  to  see  them  off.  If  we 
had  felt  any  uneasiness  before  in  the  thoughts  of 
sending  our  comrades  off  in  this  way,  what  was  the 
depth  of  our  remorse  when  we  saw  the  dreadful 
old  tub  in  which  they  were  to  depart.  It  was  an 
ill-shapen  hulk,  with  two  great,  badly  repaired  sails 
flapping  against  her  clumsy  and  foreboding  masts. 
The  deck  and  sides  were  besmeared  with  the  sticky 
remnants  of  her  last  importation,  so  that  when  our 
leading  actor,  who  had  been  seated  on  the  taffrail, 
arose  to  greet  his  managers,  he  was  unavoidably 
detained.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  com- 
pany were  uncomfortably  disposed  about  the  ves- 
sel, seated  on  their  trunks  and  boxes  that  had  not 
yet  been  stowed  away.  There  were  handsome 
John  Crocker,  our  juvenile  actor,  leaning  with 
folded  arms  and  a  rueful  face  against  an  adhesive 
mast ;  pretty  Mrs.  Allen,  then  only  eighteen  years 
old  and  just  married,  nestling  upon  the  bosom  of 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  143 

her  husband,  with  her  lovely  dreaming  eyes  se- 
renely wondering,  not  when  they  would  start,  but 
whether  they  ever  would  return ;  Mrs.  Ray,  the 
first  old  woman,  with  an  umbrella  in  one  hand  and 
a  late  dramatic  paper  in  the  other,  sitting  on  a  coil 
of  rope  and  unconsciously  ruining  her  best  black 
dress.  It  was  a  doleful  picture.  The  captain,  too, 
was  anything  but  a  skipper  to  inspire  confidence. 
He  had  a  glazed  and  disheveled  look  that  told  of 
last  night's  booze.  Our  second  comedian,  who 
was  the  reverse  of  being  droll  on  the  stage,  but 
who  now  and  then  ventured  a  grim  joke  off  it  with 
better  success,  told  me  in  confidence  that  they  all 
had  been  lamenting  their  ill-tarred  fate.  Ellsler 
and  I  bade  our  company  as  cheerful  an  adieu 
as  we  well  could,  but  there  must  have  been  a  tinge 
of  remorse  in  our  farewell,  for,  on  talking  the  mat- 
ter over  as  we  watched  the  wretched  old  craft 
being  towed  away  to  sea,  we  concluded  that  we 
should  not  forgive  ourselves  if  our  comrades  were 
never  heard  of  again. 

On  our  arrival  in  Wilmington  the  days  were 
spent  in  preparing  the  dusty  old  rat-trap  of  a 
theater  for  the  opening,  and  our  nights  in  wonder- 
ing if  our  party  were  safe.  The  uneasiness  was 
not  lessened,  either,  by  the  news  that  there  had 
been  bad  weather  off  Cape  Hatteras. 

Within  a  week,  however,  they  arrived,  looking 
jaded  and  miserable.  Another  week  for  rest  and 
rehearsal,  and  our  labors  began.  It  was  custom- 
ary in  those  days,  particularly  with  provincial 
companies,  to  vary  the  dramatic  bill  of  fare  so  as 


144  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

to  suit  the  different  tastes  of  the  public.  Comedy 
and  tragedy  were  therefore  dished  up,  and  I  may 
say  hashed  up,  alternately,  as  for  instance  Mon- 
day: Colman's  comedy  of  "The  Poor  Gentleman," 
fancy  dances  by  the  soubrette,  comic  songs  by  the 
second  comedian,  concluding  with  the  farce  of 
"The  Spectre  Bridegroom."  The  next  evening 
we  gave  "Romeo  and  Juliet." 

The  name  of  this  latter  play  calls  to  mind  an 
anecdote  connected  with  its  performance  in  Wil- 
mington that  will  not  be  amiss  at  this  point.  I 
have  before  said  that  a  portion  of  my  early  theat- 
rical education  was  drawn  from  hard  work  in  the 
paint  and  property  room  of  a  theater,  so  that  when 
I  became  a  manager  I  delighted  in  the  "get-up," 
as  it  was  technically  called,  of  plays,  so  far  as  our 
slender  means  would  permit.  To  fashion  and 
paint  a  rustic  bridge,  with  a  wide  board  behind  it, 
set  upon  two  shaky  trestles,  for  Rob  Roy  to  cross 
over,  was  a  special  privilege.  A  profile  boat  for 
the  "Lady  of  the  Lake"  was  another  delight. 
This  perfectly  unsafe-looking  skiff  was  always  set 
on  a  trunk  mounted  upon  four  little  wooden 
wheels  that  no  amount  of  black-lead  could  induce 
to  keep  from  squeaking.  The  rope  must  be  stead- 
ily pulled  —  the  slightest  jerk  and  over  goes  her 
ladyship  into  the  gauze  waters.  But  let  us  return 
to  the  story. 

"Romeo  and  Juliet"  being  announced,  I  felt 
that  the  balcony  scene  should  have  some  atten- 
tion, and  I  conceived  a  simple  and  economical  idea 
that  would  enable  me,  at  a  day's  notice,  to  produce 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  145 

the  effect  in  a  manner  "  hitherto  unparalleled  in 
the  annals  of  the  stage."  Skirmishing  about  the 
wharves  and  the  ship-chandlers',  I  chanced  to  light 
upon  a  job  lot  of  empty  candle-boxes.  By  taking 
a  quantity  the  cardboards  were  thrown  in,  and 
nothing  makes  a  finer  or  more  imposing  but  un- 
substantial balustrade  than  cardboard.  The  boxes, 
placed  one  by  one  on  top  of  each  other  and  painted 
a  neat  stone  color,  formed  a  pleasing  architectural 
pile.  Before  the  play  began  I  had  cautioned  Ju- 
liet that  when  "she  leaned  her  cheek  upon  her 
hand  "  she  should  let  her  elbow  rest  gracefully  but 
lightly  on  the  frail  structure  that  was  to  support 
it.  Romeo  also  had  to  be  cautioned,  for  as  the 
house  of  Capulet  was  already  about  his  ears,  it 
was  necessary  that  at  least  his  shins  should  es- 
cape any  contact  with  the  foundation.  The  scene 
opened  with  a  backing  of  something,  supposed  to 
represent  the  distant  city  of  Verona,  with  my  new 
balcony  in  the  foreground.  Romeo  and  Juliet 
were  warm  and  energetic  in  their  love  passages, 
but  still  acted  with  becoming  care  and  gentle  con- 
sideration for  the  balcony  about  which  they  flut- 
tered. All  seemed  to  be  going  well  till  presently 
there  came  the  sound  of  half-suppressed  laughter 
from  the  audience.  "  Crocker,"  said  I  from  the 
wing,  "  are  you  shaking  the  balcony  ?  "  "  No,"  he 
whispered;  "I  have  n't  touched  it."  "What  are 
they  laughing  at,  then?"  "Can't  imagine,"  said 
he.  The  laughter  increased,  and  it  was  quite  evi- 
dent that  something  not  announced  in  the  bills 
had  gradually  attracted  the  attention  of  the  audi- 


146  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

ence  till  at  last  the  whole  house  had  discovered 
the  mishap.  Juliet  retreated  in  amazement  and 
Romeo  rushed  off  in  despair,  and  down  came  the 
curtain. 

I  rushed  upon  the  stage  to  find  out  what  had 
occurred,  when  to  my  horror  I  discovered  that  one 
of  the  boxes  had  been  placed  with  the  unpainted 
side  out,  on  which  was  emblazoned  a  semicircular 
trade-mark,  setting  forth  that  the  very  corner-stone 
of  Juliefs  balcony  contained  twenty  pounds  of  the 
best  "  short  sixes." 

From  Wilmington  we  journeyed  to  Charleston, 
South  Carolina,  where,  after  three  weeRs  of  stock 
and  star,  we  were  joined  by  Julia  Dean.  Julia 
Dean  and  I  had  been  in  the  utility  ranks  of  the 
Mobile  Theater  during  the  management  of  Ludlow 
&  Smith,  and  as  this  firm  was  noted  for  the  econ- 
omy of  its  organization,  we  were  made  good  use 
of.  In  the  various  dramas  produced  during  this 
season  Julia  and  I  had  gone  hand  in  hand,  alter- 
nately espousing  the  cause  of  tyranny  and  virtue 
for  the  small  sum  of  six  dollars  a  week.  For  this 
reward  we  were  content  to  change  our  politics  and 
our  costumes  at  the  will  of  the  stage-manager.  As 
brigands,  gentle  shepherds,  or  communists  we 
gained  our  daily  bread  together.  We  changed 
our  religion  without  the  slightest  compunction  ;  as 
iCatholics  we  massacred  the  Huguenots,  while  as 
Pilgrims  we  bade  a  sad  adieu  to  our  native  land, 
from  which  we  had  been  driven  by  religious  perse- 
cution. Lay  or  secular,  it  mattered  not  to  us.  So 
we  trudged  on,  with  perhaps  a  lurking  thought  that 
some  day  we  might  lead  to  victory  as  we  were  then 


I 


JUI-IA    DEAN. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  147 

following  to  the  death.  Straightway  comes  a 
change ;  not  for  me,  but  for  my  gentle  comrade. 
Let  me  recall  the  scene.  The  greenroom  is  in 
a  high  state  of  excitement ;  a  lady  has  fainted  and 
is  borne  to  her  dressing-room  "  insensible ";  the 
prompter,  George  Stanley,  brings  intelligence  to 
the  stage-manager  that  she  is  too  ill  to  act.  The 
play  to  be  given  is  "  Wives  as  They  Were  and 
Maids  as  They  Are."  The  audience  must  be  dis- 
missed unless  some  one  can  be  found  to  read  the 
part.  The  economy  before  referred  to  has  permit- 
ted no  overflow  of  genius  to  glut  our  dramatic  corps, 
so  that  impromptu  talent  is  a  scarce  commodity 
with  us.  Stanley  suggests,  "  Perhaps  Miss  Dean 
can  do  it."  "  Oh,  no,  impossible  !  "  replies  the  man- 
ager ;  and  then  a  gentle  but  clear  and  steady  voice 
says,  "  I  think  I  can,  sir."  What,  quiet,  shy,  and 
modest  Julia !  Whence  comes  the  courage  to  avow 
all  this  ?  It  does  not  spring  from  vanity  —  she  has 
none ;  it  is  begot  of  that  honest  confidence  which 
often  underlies  ability ;  it  wins  the  manager,  who 
in  his  dilemma  clutches  at  a  straw.  While  the 
sweet  volunteer  is  robing  herself  in  the  dress  of 
Lady  Priory,  left  by  the  invalid,  a  friend  reads  the 
lines  of  the  first  scene  to  Julia,  who  drinks  them 
in  with  eagerness ;  and  the  audience  are  told  that 
they  must  be  charitable  to  the  young  novice. 

The  play  proceeds  and  Lady  Priory  enters  ;  we, 
her  comrades,  are  standing  at  the  wing.  Take 
courage,  girl !  There  beats  not  here  one  heart 
that  envies  you.  The  gentle  eyes  are  raised,  so 
full  of  innocence  and  truth,  and  now  she  speaks. 
Who  ever  thought  that  Julia  harbored  such  a  voice 


148  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

—  so  low,  so  sweet,  and  yet  so  audible  !  It  sinks 
deep  into  the  hearts  of  all  who  listen.  They  are 
spellbound  by  her  beauty,  and  as  she  gives  the 
lines  with  warm  and  honest  power  a  murmur  of  de- 
light runs  through  the  house,  and  from  that  moment 
our  lovely  friend  is  famous. 

Just  seven  years  after  this  I  found  myself  mana- 
ger in  Charleston,  and  Julia  Dean,  then  the  lead- 
ing juvenile  actress  of  America,  engaged  to  play  a 
star  engagement  in  my  theater.  I  was  rather  proud 
to  feel  that  while  my  young  friend  had  in  the  mean 
time  risen  to  be  a  brilliant  star  I  was  at  least  a 
manager,  if  not  a  successful  one.  On  the  morning 
of  her  arrival  in  Charleston  I  called  at  the  hotel  to 
pay  my  respects.  I  sent  up  my  card.  I  knew  she 
would  smile  at  the  very  idea  of  my  having  a  card ; 
so  I  wrote  in  pencil  under  my  name,  "All  the  util- 
ity people  wanted  at  ten  for  the  country  dance." 
As  the  door  opened  I  entered  her  drawing-room. 
She  burst  out  laughing,  and,  giving  me  both  hands 
in  the  frankest  way,  said,  "  So  here  we  are  again." 
The  tall  lanky  figure  of  a  girl  of  sixteen,  with  deep 
blue  eyes  and  golden  hair,  had  rounded  into  the 
graceful  figure  of  a  charming  woman. 

Mr.  Ellsler  and  I  had  been  struggling  along 
in  the  old  up-and-down  way,  but  were  looking  for- 
ward to  an  improvement  in  business  as  soon  as  our 
new  star  should  shine  —  and  shine  she  did.  The 
town  fairly  went  wild  with  enthusiasm.  The  star 
was  feted  and  entertained  by  those  to  whom  she 
would  vouchsafe  her  presence.  All  vied  in  paying 
homage  to  her  beauty  and  her  virtue.  She  received 
these  attentions  with  simple  dignity  and  grace  un- 


HENRY     PLACIDE. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  149 

spoiled  by  flattery  or  success,  and  in  those  days  of 
her  artistic  splendor  she  delighted  to  laugh  and 
chat  over  the  olden  time  when  we  marched  together 
in  the  glorious  preparatory  ranks.  The  success 
of  this  engagement  was  an  event  in  the  annals 
of  Charleston  theatricals.  At  the  end  of  the  first 
week  we  shared  $900  each  —  think  of  it,  $900. 
My  partner  was  more  sedate  than  I,  and  I  fancy 
took  his  good  fortune  with  a  quiet,  philosophic  air. 
But  for  me,  I  was  in  the  clouds,  a  plutocratic  com- 
edian !  During  the  whole  week  I  had  been  covet- 
ously eying  two  watches  in  the  jeweler's  window 
of  Hayden  &  Greg  —  one  a  small,  blue  enameled 
one,  having  a  real  diamond  in  the  center,  with 
which  I  intended  to,  and  did,  surprise  my  wife ; 
the  other  a  patent  eighteen-carat  lever,  with  which 
I  was  bent  upon  astonishing  myself.  These  pur- 
chases were  eventually  made,  absorbing  a  large 
portion  of  our  profits. 

I  had  my  watch  for  many  years.  It  was  a 
true  and  valuable  friend.  I  will  not  say  that 
we  never  parted ;  there  were  moments  of  em- 
barrassment when  a  temporary  separation  was 
imperative. 

The  following  season  I  was  engaged  to  act  the 
"  first  comedy  "  under  the  stage-management  of 
Mr.  John  Gilbert,  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theater. 
This  being  a  period  when  stars  were  rare  and 
combinations  unknown,  the  regular  companies  were 
fully  commissioned,  and  generally  supplied  with 
excellent  actors. 

At  the  Arch,  Wheatley  &  Drew  had  a  most 
popular  stock  company,  and  the  ladies  and  gentle- 


150  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

men  attached  to  it  were  undoubtedly  the  dramatic 
heroes  of  the  city. 

Our  company  at  the  Chestnut  Street  was  not 
quite  so  capable,  but  we  produced  the  standard 
plays  with  considerable  effect,  and  were  thought, 
by  ourselves  at  least,  to  be  formidable  rivals  of 
the  other  actors.  I  had  played  Dr.  Ollapod  and 
Bob  Acres  before,  so  that  in  these  characters  I  was 
comparatively  at  home ;  but  when  the  cast  of  the 
"  Heir-at-Law"  appeared  in  the  greenroom  I  felt 
rather  nervous,  though,  of  course,  I  was  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  acting  the  important  part  of 
Dr.  Pangloss.  But  now  there  came  upon  me  a 
dreadful  mortification.  The  speeches  of  the  erudite 
doctor  are  filled  with  classical  quotations,  and  as 
I  knew  but  little  of  Latin  and  nothing  of  Greek 
there  was  only  this  course  left  me,  I  must  go  to 
Mr.  Gilbert  and  confess  my  ignorance.  That  gen- 
tleman kindly  offered  to  assist  me  in  mastering 
the  classics,  at  least  so  far  as  the  learned  doctor 
was  concerned. 

The  first  thing  to  be  accomplished  was  to  get 
at  the  exact  meaning  of  the  quotations,  that  they 
might  be  delivered  with  intelligence.  And  the 
next  and  really  most  important  point  was  to 
familiarize  myself  with  the  correct  pronunciation 
of  them.  In  two  or  three  days  we  accomplished 
this  to  our  mutual  satisfaction,  and  when  acting 
the  part  I  gave  out  the  quotations  with  such  gusto 
and  confidence  that  I  am  quite  sure  the  audience 
was  convinced  that  it  was  listening  to  a  very 
learned  fellow.  I  do  not  feel  any  remorse,  how- 
ever, at  the  imposition,  for  I  have  no  doubt  that 


CHESTNUT     STREET    THEATER,    PHILADELPHIA. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  151 

two-thirds  of  the  spectators  who  applauded  my 
pronunciation  of  Greek  and  Latin  knew  as  little 
about  the  matter  as  I  did. 

In  1853  I  became  stage-manager  at  the  Balti- 
more Museum  for  Henry  C.  Jarrett.  He  was 
known  as  the  railroad  manager,  from  a  habit  he 
had  contracted  of  getting  up  excursions  between 
Washington  and  Baltimore.  These  flying  trips 
were  both  startling  and  inconvenient  for  nervous 
actors,  as  he  would  frequently  arrange  for  one  of 
his  stars  to  play  a  short  piece  for  the  opening 
performance  in  Baltimore,  and  then  hasten  him, 
on  a-mile-a-minute  trip,  to  Washington,  in  a  spe- 
cial train,  terminating  the  entertainment  in  the 
latter  city  with  the  same  attraction. 

On  one  occasion  he  produced  the  "  School  for 
Scandal "  at  the  capital  with  a  cast  so  strong, 
including  as  it  did  the  first  comedians  of  the  day, 
that  some  account  of  it  here  may  be  interesting. 
The  characters  were  distributed  as  follows : 

Sir  Peter  Teazle MR.  HENRY  PLACIDE. 

Charles  Surface MR.  J.  E.  MURDOCH. 

Joseph  Surface MR.  J.  W.  WALLACK. 

Sir  Benjamin  Backbite MR.  I.  M.  DAWSON. 

Crabtree MR.  THOMAS  PLACIDE. 

Sir  Oliver  Surface MR.  GEORGE  ANDREWS. 

Moses MR.  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON. 

Snake MR.  EDWIN  ADAMS. 

Careless,  with  song MR.  A.  H.  DAVENPORT. 

Rowley MR.  ELLIS. 

Sir  Harry  Bumper MR.  J.  M.  BARRON. 

Trip MR.  J.  B.  HOWE. 

Lady  Teazle Miss  LIZZIE  WESTON. 

Mrs.  Candor Miss  KATE  HORN. 

Maria Miss  MARY  DEVLIN. 

Lady  Sneerwell MRS.  JANE  GERMON. 


152  T^E  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


Being  stage-manager,  of  course  I  was  delighted 
to  have  this  vast  array  of  talent  under  my  direction. 
Naturally  my  position  on  this  occasion  was  a  sine- 
cure, as  there  was  but  little  to  do  in  the  way  of 
management.  These  great  lights  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  manage  themselves,  and  were  not  likely 
to  expect  advice  or  to  brook  it  from  a  young- 
ster like  me  ;  so  I  was  contented  to  get  the 
credit  of  arranging  the  whole  affair,  which  had 
really  cost  me  but  little  thought  or  labor.  I  fancy 
though,  from  what  I  remember  of  myself  about 
that  time,  that  I  went  about  with  a  wise  and  pro- 
found look,  as  though  the  destiny  of  nations  rested 
on  my  head.  I  have  since  seen  older  men  than  I  was 
assume  this  importance. 

The  undoubted  hero  of  this  occasion  was  Mur- 
doch in  the  character  of  Charles  Surface.  James 
E.  Murdoch,  as  an  actor,  was  not  only  extremely 
versatile,  but  entirely  original.  Neither  the  popu- 
larity of  Forrest  nor  the  fame  of  Booth  could  tempt 
him  to  an  imitation  of  either  of  these  tragedians, 
and  his  comedy  was  equally  free  from  resembling 
the  style  of  the  Wallacks  or  that  of  Charles  Kem- 
ble  —  for  the  school  of  the  latter  was  still  lingering 
upon  the  stage.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the 
traditions  of  these  great  actors  were  not  worth 
preserving.  On  the  contrary,  they  possessed,  from 
all  accounts,  a  dignity  and  finish  that  would  be 
welcome  at  any  time.  I  cite  the  fact  to  show  that 
Mr.  Murdoch,  —  though  I  feel  sure  that  he  admired 
the  great  ones  that  had  gone  before  and  were  sur- 
rounding him,  —  while  he  strove  to  emulate,  dis- 


JAMES     E.    MURDOCH. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  153 

dained  to  imitate  them.  He  stood  alone,  and  I  do 
not  remember  any  actor  who  excelled  him  in  those 
parts  that  he  seemed  to  make  especially  his  own. 
He  was  one  of  the  few  artists  that  I  can  call  to 
mind  who  were  both  professed  elocutionists  and 
fine  actors. 

There  was  a  manliness  about  his  light  comedy 
that  gave  it  more  dignity  than  the  flippant  style  in 
which  it  was  usually  played.  This  method  ele- 
vated the  characters  exceedingly.  Charles  Sur- 
face, Major  Oakly,  and  young  Mirabel  cannot  be 
acted  with  the  same  free  and  easy  manner  that 
might  be  thrown  into  Richard  Dazzle,  Littleton 
Coke,  or  Mr.  Golightly.  I  do  not  say  this  in  con- 
tempt of  these  latter  characters ;  they  are  natural 
pictures  of  modern  men,  but  they  are  eccentric 
rather  than  elegant.  I  saw  Charles  Mathews  in 
the  part  of  Charles  Surface,  and  it  was  a  failure. 
He  had  been  for  years  acting  the  London  man- 
about-town  style  of  character,  and  the  modern  air 
and  rather  trifling  manners,  which  were  admirable 
when  introduced  into  those  parts,  were  entirely 
out  of  place  in  old  English  comedy.  The  quaint- 
ness  of  the  language  and  the  fashion  of  the  cos- 
tume seemed  to  demand  a  courtly  carriage,  which 
a  modern  swagger,  with  one's  hands  thrust  into 
one's  breeches  pockets,  will  fail  to  give.  It  was 
the  finish  and  picturesque  style  of  Murdoch's  act- 
ing that  agreeably  surprised  the  audience  of  the 
Hay  market  Theater  when  this  actor  played  there 
some  forty  years  ago.  The  public  was  unprepared 
to  see  comely  old  English  manners  so  conspicuous 


154  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

in  an  American  actor,  and  he  gained  its  sympathy 
at  once.  The  modern  light  comedians,  with  a  few 
exceptions,  seem  to  have  discarded  the  quaint 
manners  of  the  stage,  thinking  them  antiquated 
and  pedantic.  And  so  they  were,  for  modern 
plays ;  but  it  is  dangerous  to  engraft  new  fashions 
upon  old  forms.  I  should  as  soon  expect  to  see 
Mercutio  smoke  a  cigarette  as  to  find  him  ambling 
about  the  stage  with  the  mincing  manners  of  a 
dude. 

And  speaking  of  this  very  character,  Charles 
Mathews  told  me  that,  during  Macready's  Shak- 
sperean  revivals  at  Drury  Lane  Theater,  he  was 
engaged  to  play  Roderigo,  in  which  light  and  friv- 
olous part  he  made  such  a  hit  that  Macready  tried 
to  persuade  him  to  act  Mercutio.  He  was  de- 
lighted with  the  idea  at  first,  but  upon  reading 
and  pondering  over  the  part  he  felt  convinced 
that  it  was  beyond  him.  Macready  urged,  but 
Mathews  would  not  undertake  the  part.  Some 
years  afterward  Charles  Kemble  returned  to 
the  stage  for  a  short  farewell  engagement  and 
acted  Mercutio.  "Oh,"  said  Mathews,  "when  I 
saw  this  elegant  and  manly  actor  dash  across  the 
stage  with  the  confident  carriage  of  a  prince,  and 
heard  him  read  the  lines  of  Shakspere  as  though 
they  had  been  written  for  him,  I  felt  that  I  had 
made  a  fortunate  escape  in  dodging  this  first  gen- 
tleman of  Verona." 

The  next  important  figure  to  James  E.  Mur- 
doch, in  the  powerful  cast  of  the  "  School  for 
Scandal "  just  referred  to,  was  the  Sir  Peter 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  155 

Teazle  of  Henry  Placide.  It  was  one  of  this  act- 
or's most  striking  characters.  His  style,  during 
the  latter  part  of  his  career,  was  said  to  have  been 
founded  on  that  of  William  Farren,  the  great  Eng- 
lish actor.  If  so,  from  all  the  accounts  we  get  of 
Mr.  Farren,  the  model  was  superb.  Henry  Pla- 
cide was  considered  a  finished  artist,  but  somewhat 
cold  and  hard  in  his  manner.  These  features, 
however,  though  they  mar  the  more  delicate  points 
in  acting,  would  be  less  objectionable  in  Sir  Peter 
than  in  most  of  the  old  men  in  English  comedy. 
Except  in  the  scene  where  he  speaks  feelingly  of 
his  wife  to  Joseph  Surface,  the  part  is  stiff,  testy, 
and  formal ;  the  humor  is  dry  rather  than  unctu- 
ous. The  career  of  Henry  Placide  was  long  and 
brilliant.  He  was  a  strong  feature  of  the  old  Park 
Theater  for  many  seasons,  and  starred  in  the  prin- 
cipal cities  of  America  with  success.  He  was  an 
acknowledged  favorite,  whose  talents  as  an  actor 
made  him  a  valued  member  of  the  theatrical 
profession. 

I  remember  that  during  the  rehearsal  of  the 
"  School  for  Scandal "  I  was  impressed  with  the 
idea  that  the  performance  would  not  go  well.  It 
is  always  a  difficult  matter  to  bring  a  company  of 
great  artists  together  for  a  night  and  have  them 
act  in  unison  with  one  another ;  not  from  any  ill- 
feeling,  but  from  the  fact  that  they  are  not  accus- 
tomed to  play  together.  In  a  fine  mechanical 
contrivance,  the  ease  and  perfection  with  which  it 
works  often  depend  upon  the  fact  that  the  cog- 
wheels have  their  different  proportions.  On  this 


156  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

occasion  they  were  all  identical  in  size,  highly  pol- 
ished, and  well  made,  but  not  adapted  to  the  same 
machinery.  Seeing  a  hitch  during  the  rehearsal 
in  one  of  the  important  scenes,  I  ventured,  in  my 
official  capacity,  to  make  a  suggestion  to  one  of 
the  old  actors.  He  regarded  me  with  a  cold, 
stony  gaze,  as  though  I  had  been  at  a  great  dis- 
tance,—  which  I  was,  both  in  age  and  in  experi- 
ence,—  and  gave  me  to  understand  that  there  was 
but  one  way  to  settle  the  matter,  and  that  that  was 
his  way.  Of  course,  as  the  company  did  not  com- 
prise the  one  regularly  under  my  management,  I 
felt  that  it  would  be  becoming  in  me  to  yield ; 
which  I  did,  not,  however,  without  protesting  that 
the  position  I  took  was  the  proper  and  only  one 
under  the  circumstances;  and  when  I  saw  the 
scene  fail  and  virtually  go  to  pieces  at  night,  I 
confess  that  I  felt  some  satisfaction  in  the  know- 
ledge that  my  judgment  had  been  correct.  In  fact 
the  whole  entertainment,  while  it  had  been  a  finan- 
cial success,  was  an  artistic  failure.  People  won- 
dered how  so  many  great  actors  could  make  a 
performance  go  off  so  tamely. 

Harmony  is  the  most  important  element  in  a 
work  of  art.  In  this  instance  each  piece  of  mosaic 
was  perfect  in  form  and  beautiful  in  color,  but 
when  fitted  together  they  matched  badly  and  the 
effect  was  crude.  An  actor  who  has  been  for  years 
the  main  attraction  in  his  plays,  and  on  all  occa- 
sions the  central  and  conspicuous  figure  of  the  en- 
tertainment, can  scarcely  be  expected  to  adapt 
himself  at  once  to  being  grouped  with  others  in 


EDWIN     FORREST     ABOUT     1835. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  157 

one  picture :  having  so  long  performed  the  solo,  it 
is  difficult  to  accompany  the  air.  A  play  is  like  a 
picture :  the  actors  are  the  colors,  and  they  must 
blend  with  one  another  if  a  perfect  work  is  to  be 
produced  Should  they  fail  to  agree  as  to  the 
value  and  distribution  of  their  talents,  then,  though 
they  be  ever  so  great,  they  must  submit  their  case 
to  the  care  and  guidance  of  a  master  hand. 

In  the  year  1854  I  became  manager  for  John  T. 
Ford  of  the  theater  in  Richmond,  Virginia.  The 
romantic  drama  of  "  The  Sea  of  Ice  "  was  produced 
with  splendid  success,  and  was  followed  by  "The 
Naiad  Queen,"  which  enjoyed  equal  popularity. 
The  season  was  altogether  quite  a  brilliant  one, 
and  included  among  its  attractions  some  of  the 
first  stars  of  the  country.  Miss  Agnes  Robertson, 
known  as  the  "'Fairy  Star,"  accompanied  by  her 
husband,  Mr.  Dion  Boucicault,  headed  the  list, 
which  terminated  with  Edwin  Forrest.  This  popu- 
lar tragedian  was  then  in  his  prime,  and  what  a 
handsome  fellow  he  was  !  The  form  of  an  Apollo, 
with  the  strength  of  a  Hercules  :  his  deep,  musical 
voice  was  under  perfect  control,  and  in  the  pathetic 
scenes  of  Cade  and  Virginius  full  of  tears.  As  a 
melodramatic  actor  he  stood  ahead  of  all  his  com- 
petitors. In  Shaksperean  characters  he  was  con- 
sidered too  robust  and  extravagant.  So  far  as 
matters  relating  to  his  own  profession  were  con- 
cerned, he  was  undoubtedly  a  student,  his  readings 
being  faultless,  and  full  of  feeling.  In  private  he 
could  be  very  agreeable  ;  his  conversation  was  both 
humorous  and  witty,  and  his  anecdotes  were  told 


158  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

with  excellent  effect.  During  my  long  professional 
life  I  met  him  frequently,  and  I  should  say  that 
much  of  his  unhappiness  —  for  he  was  a  very  un- 
happy man  —  came  from  an  irritable  temper,  under 
little  control.  His  nature,  unfortunately,  was  not 
softened  by  that  sweet  and  gradual  ascent  to  good 
fortune  that  is  so  humanizing.  Happy  are  those 
who  in  the  race  for  fame  advance  steadily  and  by 
degrees,  making  no  hurried  strides,  but  losing  no 
ground;  shaking  hands  with  their  competitors  as 
they  go  by  them,  and  making  honest  room  for  them 
to  pass  should  they  come  up  again.  Forrest  with 
one  leap  bounded  to  the  front.  No  new  triumphs 
awaited  him,  and  as  old  age  came  on  he  could  only 
witness  younger  and  fleeter  metal  pass  him  by. 
During  those  fits  of  anger  which  came  upon  him 
from  the  inefficiency  of  his  dramatic  support  he 
was  childish  and  unreasonable  —  having  no  power 
of  recognizing  the  distinction  between  a  man  who 
tries  his  best  and  fails,  and  he  who  fails  because  he 
does  not  try  at  all. 

During  the  engagement  of  which  I  am  about  to 
speak,  and  on  one  occasion  while  we  were  rehears- 
ing "  Damon  and  Pythias,"  Edwin  Adams,  who 
was  cast  for  Pythias,  was  going  through  the  excit- 
ing scene  in  which  that  character  parts  with  Ca- 
lanthe.  Forrest  took  exception  to  the  business 
arrangements  of  the  stage ;  but  as  this  was  one  of 
his  quiet,  dignified  mornings,  he  made  his  objec- 
tions with  respectful  deference,  saying  that  if  Mr. 
Adams  would  allow  him  he  would  suggest  some 
new  business  that  might  improve  the  scene. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  159 

Adams  expressed  himself  as  quite  willing  to  receive 
any  instruction  ;  so  Forrest  went  through  the  part- 
ing with  Calanthe,  giving  some  new  and  very  good 
suggestions.  Adams  tried  but  failed  to  catch  For- 
rest's idea.  It  was  tried  over  and  over  till  finally 
Forrest  became  impatient.  Again  taking  Adams's 
place,  he  rushed  towards  the  fainting  form  of  Ca- 
lanthe,  and  as  he  dropped  upon  his  knee,  throwing 
his  head  tragically  forward,  his  hat  fell  off.  Now 
it  is  always  a  comical  thing  to  see  a  man's  high 
black-silk  hat  tumble  from  his  head,  but  especially 
when  he  is  going  through  a  tragic  scene.  Forrest 
for  a  moment  hesitated  whether  he  should  pause 
and  pick  up  the  hat  or  not ;  at  last  he  made  a  sav- 
age grab  for  it,  but  it  eluded  his  grasp,  and,  slip- 
ping through  his  fingers,  rolled  round  the  stage, 
he  pursuing  it  with  tragic  passion.  The  company, 
one  by  one,  turned  their  heads  away,  quietly  en- 
joying his  discomfiture.  At  last  he  secured  it,  and 
fixing  it  firmly  on  his  head,  he  proceeded  with  the 
action  of  the  scene.  He  felt  we  had  been  laughing 
at  him,  and  became  furious.  Rushing  upon  Ca- 
lanthe,  he  embraced  her  again  and  again.  "Fare- 
well, my  love,"  cried  he  in  dire  woe.  He  then 
tore  himself  from  her  embrace,  and  madly  career- 
ing up  the  stage  ran  head  first  into  a  scene  that 
the  carpenters  were  moving  across  the  stage, 
mashing  the  unlucky  hat  over  his  eyes.  He 
struggled  manfully  to  get  it  off,  but  with  no  effect 
till  Adams  and  I  came  to  the  rescue.  We 
were  now  all  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  For  a  moment 
he  looked  bewildered  and  even  angry,  but  as  the 


160  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

absurdity  of  the  scene  dawned  upon  him  he  joined 
in  the  merriment,  and  declared  it  was  the  most 
ridiculous  thing  that  had  ever  occurred. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  Richmond  engagement 
the  company  journeyed  to  Washington,  where  we 
were  to  open  with  Forrest  as  Metamora  —  a  char- 
acter that  he  detested,  and  one  that  the  public  ad- 
mired. Forrest  was  always  in  a  state  of  intense 
irritation  during  the  rehearsal  and  performance  of 
this  drama.  Irregularities  that  he  would  have 
overlooked  under  ordinary  circumstances  were 
now  magnified  to  an  enormous  size,  so  that  when 
he  donned  the  buckskin  shirt,  and  stuck  the  hunt- 
ing-knife of  the  American  savage  in  his  wampum 
belt,  he  was  ready  to  scalp  any  offending  actor 
who  dared  to  cross  his  path.  The  copper-colored 
liquid  with  which  he  stained  his  cheeks  might 
literally  have  been  called  "war  paint." 

At  the  rehearsal  the  poor  property  man,  old 
Jake  Search,  got  in  a  dreadful  state  of  nervous- 
ness, and  everything  went  wrong.  The  tragedian 
naturally  held  me,  as  stage-manager,  responsible 
for  these  accidents,  particularly  as  the  unlucky 
Jake  would  conceal  himself  behind  set  pieces,  or 
mysteriously  disappear  through  traps  as  each 
mishap  occurred.  In  the  midst  of  this  dreadful 
confusion,  principally  brought  atput  by  his  own 
ill  humor,  Forrest  turned  on  me,  saying  he  would 
not  act  that  night,  and  strode  out  of  the  theater. 
I  hurried  through  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
heading  him  off  in  the  alley  addressed  him,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  remember,  in  the  following  words : 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  161 

"  Mr.  Forrest,  before  you  decide  upon  this  step 
let  me  state  an  important  fact,  that  perhaps  has 
not  crossed  your  mind."  He  saw  I  was  in  earn- 
est, and  stopped  short  to  listen,  as  I  resumed : 
"  Mr.  Ford,  the  manager,  is  absent,  so  I  must 
take  his  responsibility  to  the  public  on  myself. 
The  blunders  on  the  stage  this  morning  have  been 
unfortunate,  perhaps  culpable,  but  you  must  par- 
don me  for  saying  that  your  excited  manner  and 
somewhat  unreasonable  demands  have  contributed 
not  a  little  to  confuse  the  company  and  bring 
about  this  disorder.  But  be  that  as  it  may,  there 
is  another  and  still  more  important  matter  to 
consider.  Every  seat  in  the  theater  is  taken  for 
to-night ;  the  audience  will  crowd  the  house  in  ex- 
pectation of  a  great  dramatic  treat,  to  which  they 
have  been  looking  forward  for  some  time.  If 
you  decline  to  act,  and  so  break  your  contract 
with  the  public,  what  course  is  left  for  me  ? 
Why,  only  this :  I  must  wait  for  the  vast  con- 
course of  people  to  assemble,  and  then  go  before 
them  and  explain  the  reason  of  your  non-appear- 
ance. I  shall  have  to  make  a  clear  statement  of 
the  case,  and  say  that  you  have  refused  to  act 
because  there  were  some  slight  discrepancies  and 
irregularities  in  the  rehearsal.  The  public  are, 
you  know,  quite  unreasonable  when  their  diver- 
sion is  checked,  and  it  is  likely  that  they  will  be 
indignant  at  the  disappointment,  failing  to  see 
the  reason  as  clearly  as  you  may  have  done. 
Now  consider  for  a  moment :  under  these  circum- 
stances will  it  not  be  more  magnanimous  in 


162  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

you  to  overlook  the  shortcomings  and  go  on 
with  the  rehearsal  ?  " 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  said :  "  I  will  not 
go  back  to  the  rehearsal.  I  am  too  much  excited, 
and  my  presence  on  the  stage  now  will  only  make 
matters  worse ;  but  if  you  will  see  that  details  are 
attended  to,  I  will  act  to-night." 

I  promised  to  do  so,  and  we  parted.  I  was 
only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  him  on  those  terms,  in 
his  then  intemperate  state  of  mind.  I  went  back 
to  the  stage  and  dismissed  the  rehearsal,  caution- 
ing the  actors  to  do  what  they  could  to  render  the 
night's  performance  creditable.  I  now  began  to 
hunt  up  the  delinquent  and  frightened  property 
man,  Jake  Search, —  an  appropriate  name  for  a 
fellow  who  needed  so  much  looking  after, —  and 
discovered  him  hiding  under  a  pile  of  old  scenery. 
"  Is  he  gone  ?  "  said  Search.  "  Yes,"  I  answered, 
"but  he  will  return  to-night;  so  see  that  your 
properties  are  in  good  condition,  or  he  will  be 
the  death  of  you." 

The  night  came  and  matters  progressed  favor- 
ably until  the  council  scene.  One  of  the  char- 
acters here,  being  overcome  with  nervousness, 
reversed  his  questions  to  Metamora,  giving  the 
wrong  lines,  and  of  course  receiving  an  absurd  an- 
swer. The  audience,  recognizing  the  confusion 
of  the  dialogue,  began  to  laugh,  and  of  course  this 
made  matters  worse.  The  act  terminates  with  the 
Indian's  great  speech,  "  From  the  east  to  the  west, 
from  the  north  to  the  south,  the  loud  cry  of  ven- 
geance shall  be  heard,"  and  here  he  hurls  his  knife 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  163 

into  the  center  of  the  stage,  where  it  quivers  a  de- 
fiance as  the  curtain  falls.  In  his  anger  and  ex- 
citement the  blade  failed  to  stick  in  the  stage  and 
bounded  into  the  orchestra,  the  handle  hitting  the 
double-bass  player  on  the  top  of  his  head,  which 
was  as  innocent  of  hair  as  a  billiard-ball,  so  as  the 
curtain  came  down  the  old  fellow  was  stamping 
about  and  rubbing  his  bald  pate  to  the  delight  of 
the  audience. 

I  realized  now  that  the  storm  had  burst  in 
earnest,  and  that  a  total  wreck  would  soon  follow. 
Knowing  that  I  could  not  avert  the  catastrophe, 
and  having  no  desire  to  face  the  tragedian's  wrath, 
like  a  politic  but  disloyal  captain  I  deserted  the 
ship  and  went  in  front  to  see  it  go  down.  Byron 
says  of  a  battle,  "  Oh,  what  a  sight  to  him  who 
has  no  friend  or  brother  there  ! "  to  which  Prentice 
adds,  "and  is  not  there  himself."  The  latter  was 
now  my  case.  I  was  not  there  myself,  and  I  did 
not  intend  to  be,  so  from  the  secure  corner  of  an 
upper  private  box  I  watched  the  progress  of  the 
most  disastrous  performance  I  had  ever  seen. 

As  the  curtain  rises  on  the  last  act  the  tribe  of 
Metamora  should  rush  through  the  woods  as  their 
leader  calls  them  ;  but  by  this  time  the  braves 
were  so  frightened  that  they  had  become  demoral- 
ized, and  as  the  foremost  rushed  through  the 
opening  in  the  woods  his  long  bow  got  crosswise 
between  two  trees.  This  not  only  precipitated 
the  redskin  over  it,  but  the  entire  tribe  followed, 
tumbling  head  over  heels  into  the  middle  of  the 
stage.  I  trembled  now  lest  the  "  big  Injun " 


164  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

would  refuse  to  put  in  an  appearance.  At  last, 
to  my  relief,  the  audience  quieted  down,  and 
Forrest  strode  upon  the  stage.  If  I  remember 
the  story,  at  this  point  Metamoras  wife  and  chil- 
dren had  been  stolen  away  and  murdered.  His 
pathos  was  fine,  and  by  his  magnificent  acting 
he  reduced  his  audience  to  attention  and  enthusi- 
asm. All  was  now  going  well,  and  I  looked 
forward  to  a  happy  termination  of  the  play,  which 
I  was  thankful  to  know  had  nearly  reached  its 
climax. 

A  funeral  pile  of  burning  fagots  was  then  brought 
on,  at  which  some  pale-face  was  to  be  sacrificed. 
The  two  Indians  in  charge  of  this  mysterious- 
looking  article  set  it  down  so  unsteadily  that  a 
large  sponge,  saturated  with  flaming  alcohol,  tum- 
bled off  and  rolled  down  the  stage,  leaving  a  track 
of  fire  in  its  wake.  "  Put  it  out !  "  said  Forrest, 
"  put  it  out !  "  whereupon  the  two  Indians  went 
down  on  their  knees  and  began  to  blow  alter- 
nately in  a  seesaw  way,  singeing  each  other's 
eyebrows  at  every  puff.  The  audience  could  not 
stand  this  comical  picture,  and  began  to  break 
forth  in  laughter.  "  Let  the  theater  burn  !  "  roared 
Forrest.  At  last  one  tall  Indian,  supposed  to  be 
second  in  command,  majestically  waved  off  the  two 
who  were  blowing,  and  stamped  his  foot  with  force 
and  dignity  upon  the  flaming  sponge,  at  which  a 
perfect  fountain  of  burning  alcohol  spouted  up 
his  leather  legs.  He  caught  fire,  tried  to  put 
himself  out,  rubbing  and  jumping  about  franti- 
cally, and  at  last  danced  off  the  stage  in  the  most 


FORREST    AS    "METAMORA." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  165 

comical  agony.  Forrest  made  a  furious  exit;  the 
curtain  was  dropped,  and  the  public,  in  perfect 
good  nature,  dispersed.  I  mingled  with  the  crowd 
as  it  went  forth,  and  I  never  saw  the  faces  of  an 
audience,  at  the  end  of  a  five- act  comedy,  wreathed 
in  such  smiles. 

Forrest's  first  dramatic  career  in  London  was 
undoubtedly  a  success,  though  "  The  Gladiator " 
was  an  unwise  selection  for  the  opening  night. 
It  is  a  bloody  piece  of  business  altogether,  and  it 
is  a  play  that  could  not  fail  to  disgust  the  sensi- 
bilities of  a  select  audience.  An  actor  visiting 
England,  as  Forrest  did,  not  only  with  a  great 
reputation,  but  as  unquestionably  at  that  time 
the  representative  tragedian  of  America,  naturally 
drew  the  first  people  of  the  land  to  meet  him.  It 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  a  first  night's  audience 
never  represents  the  general  public,  particularly 
on  an  occasion  of  this  kind.  The  event  was  an 
international  one.  It  was  the  first  dramatic  chal- 
lenge that  America  had  ever  given  to  England. 
The  theater  was  filled  with  a  critical  audience. 
Statesmen  and  authors,  with  the  nobility  and  gen- 
try of  the  land,  were  assembled  at  Drury  Lane  to 
witness  the  debut. 

Upon  an  audience  like  this  the  most  delicate 
coloring  would  have  had  its  effect.  An  artist 
could  scarcely  be  too  subtle  before  an  array  of 
such  nice  discrimination.  When  the  American 
actor  came  upon  the  stage  the  symmetry  of  his 
form,  his  manly  bearing,  and  the  deep  music  of 
his  voice  produced  a  strong  impression  upon  the 


166  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

house ;  but  as  the  play  progressed,  revealing  only 
the  tumult  of  brutal  passions,  disappointment  fell 
upon  the  audience.  This  crude  and  extravagant 
drama  ends  with  the  central  figure  bathed  in 
blood,  biting  the  dust,  and  writhing  in  the  agonies 
of  death.  Nothing  but  the  fine  acting  of  Forrest 
could  have  sustained  this  drama  before  such  an 
audience. 

As  an  actor  he  was  a  success,  and  the  play,  that 
caught  the  public  taste,  if  it  failed  to  please  the 
judicious,  was  acted  for  several  nights.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  if  he  had  played  Lear  or  Othello 
before  the  rare  audience  that  came  to  witness  his 
debut,  and  which  he  could  not  hope  again  to 
assemble  in  such  force,  his  success  as  a  Shak- 
sperean  tragedian  would  have  been  pronounced. 

Forrest's  second  visit  was  full  of  tumult.  Wil- 
liam Macready,  then  the  reigning  favorite  as  a 
Shaksperean  actor  in  England,  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  Mr.  Forster,  the  dramatic  critic ;  and 
Forrest  publicly  declared  that  it  was  in  conse- 
quence of  this  intimacy  that  he  had  been  abused 
in  the  papers,  and  more  than  hinted  that  Mac- 
ready  was  in  a  conspiracy  with  Forster  to  malign 
him.  History  will  never  join  with  Forrest  in  this 
belief  Macready's  position  was  so  well  assured 
in  London  that  he  could  not  possibly  fear  a  rival. 
And  the  lifelong  record  of  Macready  clearly 
shows  that  he  was  too  honorable  a  man  meanly 
to  connive  at  another's  downfall. 

After  his  engagement  was  over  Forrest  went  to 
see  his  rival  act,  and  because  the  latter  introduced 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  167 

some  business  that  Forrest  disapproved  of  he 
hissed  Macready  from  the  front  of  the  house.  To 
say  that  this  was  in  bad  taste  is  to  put  too  mild  a 
disapproval  upon  such  a  rude  and  unprofessional 
act.  It  was  the  culmination  of  Forrest's  wayward- 
ness and  ill  temper.  But  the  unfavorable  notices 
in  London  had  stung  him  to  the  quick.  The  virus 
of  adverse  criticism  rankled  in  his  veins.  The 
eagle  of  the  American  stage  was  in  a  frenzy ;  his 
plumage  had  been  ruffled  by  the  British  lion.  So 
giving  that  intolerant  animal  one  tremendous 
peck,  he  spread  his  wings  and  sailed  away. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  he  had  often  acted  Othello, 
Lear,  and  perhaps  Hamlet  with  all  that  care  and 
study  could  compass,  but  the  audience  refused  to 
respond ;  and  knowing  that  there  was  a  "  lurking 
devil"  in  him,  they  sat  dumb  and  sullen  until  it 
was  let  loose. 

A  dramatic  critic  told  me  that  he  was  paid  a 
stated  sum  of  money  to  go  to  the  theater  regu- 
larly every  night  during  Forrest's  engagements  at 
the  Broadway  Theater  in  1856,  for  the  purpose  of 
writing  him  down.  This  gentleman  (?)  had  lately 
come  from  England,  and  until  this  time  had 
scarcely  seen  a  Shaksperean  play.  He  was  a 
fluent  writer,  but  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  the 
thought  and  philosophy  contained  in  the  plays  of 
which  he  was  to  write.  He  said  he  would  get  a 
book  of  the  tragedy  that  was  to  be  acted  at  night, 
read  it  up,  then  form  his  own  conception  of  how 
the  character  should  be  acted,  and  if  Forrest  did 
not  render  it  to  his  way  of  thinking, —  which  for- 


168  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

tunately  for  the  public  he  never  did, —  he,  as  the 
critic,  would  cut  the  actor  all  to  pieces.  These 
criticisms  did  more  good  to  the  actor  than  harm. 
Unjust  abuse  generally  has  this  effect.  Feeling 
that  these  articles  were  actuated  only  by  malice, 
the  public  came  in  crowds  to  indorse  the  actor. 
Unfortunately  the  tragedian  lost  his  temper  and 
addressed  the  audience  from  the  stage,  pleading 
his  own  case  and  hurling  anathemas  at  "  the  irre- 
sponsible assassins  of  the  pen."  There  was  no 
necessity  for  this.  His  friends  had  already  taken 
up  cudgels  for  him  and  rallied  to  his  support.  It 
was  like  a  successful  candidate  asking  his  constitu- 
ents, after  they  have  elected  him,  to  add  to  the 
obligation  by  throwing  his  unsuccessful  rival  out 
of  the  window. 

Edwin  Forrest,  with  all  his  faults,  had  warm  and 
generous  impulses.  I  know  of  one  instance  where 
a  poor,  old  actress  went  to  him  in  distress.  In 
former  years  he  had  known  her  father  and  respec- 
ted him.  Touched  by  her  appeal  for  assistance, 
he  lent  her  a  large  sum  of  money,  with  the  almost 
certain  knowledge  that  he  would  never  get  it  back 
again.  It  was  never  made  public ;  no  one  knew 
of  it  but  the  receiver  and  myself.  The  Forrest 
Home  has  done  much  good,  and  is  likely  to  do 
more ;  and  those  actors  who  either  by  age  or 
by  infirmities  have  been  debarred  the  privilege  of 
following  their  profession  will  naturally  be  grateful 
for  this  rich  legacy. 

Even  in  the  days  of  his  theatrical  fame  and  pros- 
perity Forrest  was  an  austere  man,  and  as  he  grew 


HH1 


FORREST    AS     "KING    LEAR." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  169 

older  he  became  morbidly  misanthropical,  holding 
himself  aloof  from  all  but  his  most  intimate  friends. 
The  latter  part  of  his  life  was  embittered,  too,  by 
illness  and  the  loss  of  public  favor.  Until  the  clos- 
ing years  of  his  career  he  had  been  blessed  with 
perfect  health;  this  became  suddenly  shattered, 
and  the  unexpected  attack  wrecked  his  dramatic 
power.  He  might  have  borne  the  stroke  of  illness, 
but  to  one  whose  imperious  nature  could  not  brook 
the  faintest  slight  the  loss  of  public  admiration  was 
a  heavy  blow ;  one,  too,  that  would  have  shocked 
a  wiser  and  more  even-tempered  man  than  Edwin 
Forrest.  Still  he  toiled  on,  and  was  unjustly  cen- 
sured for  acting  past  his  powers.  But  what  was 
he  to  do?  His  physicians  told  him  that  he  must 
act  if  he  would  live ;  the  wheel  must  be  kept  in 
motion  or  it  would  fall.  His  performances  in  the 
larger  cities  were  given  to  empty  houses,  while 
bright  and  youthful  aspirants  were  drawing  from 
him  all  his  old  adherents.  His  former  friends  for- 
sook him,  and  naturally,  too ;  they  could  not  bear 
the  pain  of  witnessing  their  favorite  of  other  days 
declining  night  by  night.  No  actor  can  hope  to 
hold  an  interest  in  his  audience  merely  by  what  he 
has  done  in  years  gone  by ;  in  acting  it  is  the  pres- 
ent that  the  public  have  to  deal  with,  not  the  past. 
To  witness  age  and  decrepitude  struggling  to  con- 
ceal their  weakness  in  the  mimic  scene  is  too  pain- 
ful. The  greater  our  affection  for  the  artist  the 
less  can  we  bear  to  see  him  suffer  and  go  down. 

In  the  vain  hope  of  struggling  on,  the  old  trage- 
dian sought    "the  provinces."     Here    the    people 


170  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

flocked  in  crowds  to  see  the  great  actor  that  they 
had  heard  of  from  their  childhood ;  not  with  the 
faintest  hope  that  they  would  find  the  grandeur 
of  the  past,  but  from  the  curious  desire  to  see  a 
ruined  tower  just  before  it  falls. 


CHAPTER  VI 

FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE 

From  London  to  Paris — An  Early  Comedy — In 
the  Second-hand  Shops — Return  to  America 

I  SAILED  for  England  in  the  clipper  ship  Nep- 
tune, in  June,  1856.  This  was  my  first  visit  to 
Europe,  and  London  was  a  rare  treat  to  me. 
It  was  rich  in  comedians  and  poor  in  tragedians. 
Robson  and  Wright  were  especially  fine ;  Comp- 
ton  was  quaint  and  legitimate,  and  Buckstone 
funny.  Mr.  Phelps  was  an  actor  of  such  versatil- 
ity that  he  could  scarcely  be  called  a  tragedian. 
His  range  was  wider  than  that  of  any  other  actor 
in  England.  Macbeth,  Sir  Pertinax  McSyco- 
phant,  Malvolio,  King  Lear,  Sir  Anthony  Abso- 
lute, and  Bottom  take  in  the  vast  area  of  the 
legitimate  drama.  I  saw  him  in  two  of  these 
characters  only,  but  it  is  generally  conceded  that 
he  was  equally  fine  in  all  of  them. 


172  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

From  London  I  went  to  France.  My  mother's 
parents  were  from  this  lovely  country,  and  I 
longed  to  see  it.  We  arrived  quite  early  in  the 
afternoon,  and  then  I  looked  for  the  first  time  on 
the  picturesque  city  of  Dieppe.  What  a  transfor- 
mation had  taken  place  in  a  few  short  hours  from 
London !  Why,  if  a  hole  could  have  been  bored 
at  Waterloo  Bridge  and  I  had  dropped  through 
the  earth,  coming  out  at  China,  the  contrast  would 
not  have  been  greater.  Climate,  costume,  archi- 
tecture, and  language — the  change  was  complete : 
eight-storied  picturesque  houses,  with  three-storied 
roofs,  each  story  projecting  a  little  beyond  the 
other  till  at  the  top  they  almost  meet,  making  it 
quite  convenient  for  the  occupants  in  the  garret 
windows  to  shake  hands  with  one  another  across 
the  street ;  all  the  windows  filled  with  the  excited 
inhabitants  chatting  to  one  another  and  violently 
gesticulating.  The  streets  were  thronged  with 
people :  women  in  wooden  shoes,  blue  petticoats, 
and  high,  stiff,  white  caps,  carrying  baskets  and 
generally  doing  all  the  work;  lazy  men  in  blue 
blouses,  quietly  submitting  to  it  without  a  mur- 
mur; they  were  lolling  on  the  piers,  slyly  laugh- 
ing and  winking  at  one  another  as  they  guyed  the 
cockney  and  Yankee  tourists.  A  swell  table 
d'hote  dinner,  for  swell  tourists,  was  carefully 
avoided  by  myself  and  companion ;  so  we  slipped 
around  the  corner  and  got  a  cheap  repast,  consol- 
ing ourselves  that  by  traveling  economically  you 
always  have  a  better  chance  to  study  character. 
With  this  object  partly  in  view,  and  with  know- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  173 

ledge  of  our  slender  purse,  we  purchased  second- 
class  tickets  on  the  train  for  Paris.  It  was 
midsummer,  and  as  we  started  at  6  p.  M.  there 
were  still  three  or  four  hours  of  golden  twilight 
for  us.  What  a  panorama  of  beauty !  We  saw 
the  quaint  French  farms  and  picturesque  chateaux 
as  we  skirted  along  the  lovely  banks  of  the  Seine ; 
Rouen  with  its  majestic  cathedral  loomed  up  as  the 
moon  rose  over  the  river. 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  arrived  in  Paris.  I  drove 
to  Hotel  Byron  in  Rue  Richelieu,  and  after  supper 
determined  to  get  a  view  that  night  of  the  church 
of  Notre  Dame.  Past  twelve  o'clock  and  the  full 
moon  high  in  the  heavens ;  it  was  just  the  time  to 
see  it.  A  cab  had  us  there  in  twenty  minutes. 
How  grandly  it  stood  out  against  the  dark  blue 
sky !  We  recrossed  the  Seine,  and  I  stopped  the 
cab  to  get  out  on  the  bridge.  Straight  before  me 
were  the  gloomy  towers  in  which  Marie  Antoi- 
nette was  confined  during  the  Reign  of  Terror.  I 
almost  fancied  that  I  could  see  the  pale  face  of  the 
murdered  queen  gazing  with  anguish  through  the 
iron-grated  windows.  The  French  cabman  did 
not  quite  get  into  his  head  what  was  the  matter 
with  me.  I  think  my  gloomy  looks  made  him 
suspicious  that  I  was  contemplating  suicide  and 
had  brought  him  there  as  an  accessory ;  for  he  got 
quite  close  to  me,  evidently  intending  to  grab  me 
by  the  collar  and  force  me  into  the  cab  at  the  first 
hint  of  a  plunge.  He  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  I 
got  into  the  cab,  and  drove  away  from  the  bridge 
much  faster  than  he  came  to  it. 


174  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

H6tel  Byron  was  in  the  busy  part  of  the  city,  so 
I  was  awakened  at  sunrise  by  a  hum  of  voices  and 
the  rattle  of  cabs :  bakers,  milkmen,  and  venders 
of  fruit  and  vegetables  were  trying  to  drown  one 
another  with  their  various  cries.  Perhaps  a  week 
later  than  this  it  would  have  been  annoying,  but 
now  the  sounds  were  so  strange  to  my  ears  that  I 
was  only  too  delighted  to  be  awakened  by  them. 
I  had  just  finished  dressing  when  I  heard  a  fearful 
quarrel  in  the  courtyard  :  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow I  saw  a  most  curious  group  of  people.  There 
was  a  fat  man,  in  a  white  apron  and  cap, —  the 
cook, —  armed  with  a  large  wooden  spoon,  and  a 
thin  baker,  with  a  long  loaf  of  bread,  measuring  at 
least  four  feet,  beating  each  other  over  the  head 
and  shoulders  with  these  deadly  weapons.  The 
landlord  had  embraced  the  baker  and  was  trying 
to  tug  him  away;  the  landlady  was  endeavoring 
to  do  the  same  with  the  fat  cook,  but  his  dimen- 
sions defied  her ;  a  kindly  milkman  and  two  wait- 
ers got  in  between  the  belligerents,  and  in  so 
doing  received  most  of  the  punishment.  Nothing 
could  be  more  comical  than  to  watch  this  exciting 
but  bloodless  encounter — the  frantic  yells  of  the 
landlord,  the  screams  of  the  landlady,  the  milk- 
man and  the  two  waiters  rubbing  themselves  as 
the  spoon  of  the  infuriated  cook  and  the  long  loaf 
of  the  angry  baker  descended  upon  their  heads. 
In  the  midst  of  the  encounter  and  the  thickest  of 
the  fight  a  huge  milk-can  was  kicked  over,  and  a 
foaming  white  flood  deluged  the  middle  of  the 
yard.  This  dreadful  accident  stopped  the  fray  at 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  175 

once — oil  poured  upon  troubled  water  could  not 
have  been  more  effectual ;  economy  is  a  passion 
with  the  people  of  Paris.  There  was  a  groan  of 
horror  from  the  milkman,  who  stood  with  his 
shoulders  shrugged  up  to  his  eyes,  his  arms  stiff- 
ened, his  hands  spread  out,  and  his  legs  wide 
apart,  surveying  the  disaster;  his  stock  in  trade, 
once  pure  and  white  as  the  driven  snow,  was 
slowly  flowing  down  the  middle  of  the  yard,  and 
as  it  "mixed  with  the  baser  matter"  became  a 
pearly  gray,  and  so  deepened  into  an  inky  hue  as 
it  reached  the  gutter  of  the  street.  The  poor 
fellow  was  now  the  center  of  attraction.  The 
belligerents  crowded  around  him  offering  their 
sympathy ;  if  they  could  not  restore  his  mer- 
chandise, they  could  at  least  smother  him  with 
the  milk  of  human  kindness.  The  cook  and  the 
baker  looked  on  in  self-reproaching  silence,  the 
waiters  assisted  the  unfortunate  man  to  a  chair, 
and  the  landlady  soothed  him  with  a  glass  of 
claret.  Now  a  reaction  set  in.  A  faint  smile 
mantled  the  milkman's  face,  then  they  all  broke 
out  into  a  roar  of  laughter  as  the  comical  side  of 
the  picture  presented  itself;  the  waiters  fairly 
danced  with  merriment,  the  cook  embraced  the 
baker,  who  punched  him  in  the  stomach  with  de- 
light, and  so  ended  the  first  and  only  fight  I  ever 
saw  in  Paris. 

After  breakfast  I  consulted  my  memorandum 
and  guide-book.  What  a  list  of  things  to  see ! 
How  could  I  get  through  it  in  the  time  ?  Where 
should  I  go  first?  I  have  since  seen  my  children 


176  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

in  this  uncertain  condition  in  a  toy-shop,  and  have 
always  felt  for  them  as  I  remembered  this  eventful 
time ;  for  we  are  only  children  of  a  larger  growth, 
and  must  have  all  felt  this  delightful  torture.  My 
guide  was  now  engaged ;  his  name  was  Frangois. 
He  was  a  capital  hand  at  business,  so  far  as  indus- 
try was  concerned  ;  his  vitality,  too,  was  wonderful. 
Quick,  agile,  witty,  and  vivacious,  nothing  was  a 
trouble  to  him  so  long  as  it  was  to  his  taste  ;  but  if 
I  suggested  some  place  to  visit  that  he  in  his  voca- 
tion was  tired  of,  the  humbug  of  his  nature  came 
into  full  play,  and  he  would  disparage  the  proposal 
with  the  true  tact  of  a  Frenchman.  Not  that  he 
was  dishonest ;  on  the  contrary,  where  money  was 
concerned  he  was  scrupulously  particular,  but  the 
artistic  side  of  his  nature  delighted  to  assert  itself. 
On  my  second  visit  to  Paris,  twenty  years  after, 
I  was  struck  with  some  curious  incidents  that  illus- 
trate the  devotion  of  the  French  to  art  and  their 
uncertain  loyalty  to  the  reigning  government. 
Over  their  doors  and  on  the  cornices  of  their  pub- 
lic buildings  the  Republican  motto  "  Liberty,  Equal- 
ity, and  Fraternity  "  was  painted ;  but  the  prices  of 
admission  to  the  Grand  Opera  were  carved  in  the 
stone,  as  though  they  plainly  said :  "  We  only 
paint  our  patriotism  on  the  walls,  so  if  we  desire 
a  change  in  the  government  we  can  wash  it  out ; 
but  the  price  of  admission  to  the  grand  opera  can 
never  be  changed  — jamais  /  "  Again  :  when  the 
revolution  was  over,  the  names  of  many  streets  and 
buildings  were  changed,  all  references  to  royalty  or 
the  empire  were  swept  away,  till  they  came  to  the 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  111 

Palais  Royal :  this  sacred  title  was  not  disturbed, 
as  it  was  the  name  of  the  theater  within  its  walls. 

How  grand  I  felt  on  my  first  visit,  to  think  that 
I  was  in  Paris  ;  not  the  Paris  of  to-day,  with  its 
gilded  domes  and  modern  grandeur,  but  the  old, 
quaint,  dirty,  gay,  strange  city  in  the  early  days  of 
the  Second  Empire,  with  its  high,  toppling  build- 
ings, narrow  streets,  and  lively  people.  What 
pride  I  should  take,  when  I  got  back  to  America, 
in  talking  familiarly  of  well-known  localities,  and 
getting  the  French  pronunciation  pat  and  glib  — 
rattling  off  the  names  with  an  easy  air  as  if  I  had 
lived  there  for  years.  What  boyish  delight  I  felt 
in  walking  through  the  streets  and  looking  in  at 
the  shop  windows.  Socrates,  I  think  it  was,  who 
said,  as  he  walked  through  Athens,  "  How  happy 
I  am  that  there  are  so  many  things  here  I  do 
not  want."  If  his  philosophy  was  correct  —  and  I 
have  no  doubt  it  was  —  I  must  have  been  very  un- 
happy and  very  unlike  Socrates,  for  there  were  so 
many  things  that  I  did  want.  Of  course  I  could 
not  get  them,  but  could  price  and  admire  them. 
Now  I  must  be  careful ;  the  money  had  to  be  re- 
counted, and  there  should  be  enough  kept  to  get 
back  with.  I  had  been  saving  up  two  years'  salary 
for  this  trip,  so  there  must  be  no  undue  extrava- 
gance. This  matter  settled,  I  filled  my  purse  with 
gold,  hired  a  cab,  and  sallied  forth  with  my  guide 
to  visit  the  theatrical  wardrobe  shops  in  the  Tem- 
ple. I  shall  never  forget  this  lovely  day,  wander- 
ing into  the  little  dens,  sometimes  in  the  cellars, 
sometimes  in  the  garrets  of  the  queer  old  places, 


178  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

rummaging  over  quaint  hats,  square-toed  shoes, 
character  wigs,  embroidered  court  suits,  charming 
long  silk  stockings  in  all  the  magic  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  high  boots,  lovely  gaiters,  striped  waist- 
coats, and  groves  of  old-fashioned  liveries  —  it  was 
a  dramatic  fairy-land. 

The  second-hand  shops  of  Paris  are  very  dif- 
ferent from  those  of  Chatham  street  and  Petticoat 
Lane.  In  London  and  with  us  they  are  presided 
over  by  thrifty  Jews,  who  glare  at  you  with  glit- 
tering black  eyes  and  thrust  their  eager  noses  in 
your  face,  almost  imploring  you  to  buy.  Not  so 
in  France:  quiet  old  women  sit  in  the  doorways 
of  their  shops,  or  just  outside,  sewing  or  knitting ; 
no  time  is  wasted  by  the  women  of  France.  They 
smile  and  nod  as  you  pass  by,  but  no  rudeness, 
no  urging  you  to  buy ;  in  fact,  they  seem  so  per- 
fectly self-satisfied  that  at  times  it  is  quite  provok- 
ing to  the  would-be  purchaser.  I  was  all  eyes, 
and  longing  eyes  at  that.  Now  and  then  Francois 
would  give  me  a  gentle  nudge  and  admonish  me 
not  to  appear  so  anxious.  At  these  times  I  would 
assume  a  careless  manner  as  if  such  scenes  were 
quite  usual  to  me.  At  last  Frangois  stopped  in  front 
of  one  of  these  shops :  taking  a  survey  with  the 
air  of  a  connoisseur,  and  nodding  a  cold  approval 
of  its  contents,  he  invited  me  to  enter.  An  old 
woman, —  knitting,  of  course, —  the  exact  counter- 
part of  at  least  twenty  we  had  already  passed, 
followed  us  in.  Here  everything  was  in  pictur- 
esque and  artistic  confusion  —  piles  of  curious 
costumes  on  the  shelves,  flowing  scarfs,  broad 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  179 

felt  hats  with  ostrich  feathers,  russet  boots,  and 
big- hilted  swords  and  rapiers  arranged  in  a  half- 
careless,  half-methodical  way.  There  was  an  inte- 
rior room  from  which  issued  sounds  of  merriment 
and  laughter.  I  hesitated  to  pass  through,  but 
the  old  woman  smiled  and  bade  us  enter,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders  and  expressing  in  her  way, 
"Only  young  people;  they  will  have  their  sport." 
And  so  it  was.  Here  were  two  sprightly  young 
Frenchmen,  evidently  actors,  and  a  pretty  coquette 
of  a  girl  —  the  daughter  of  madame  —  having  a 
royal  time  at  flirting  and  acting.  For  a  moment 
our  entrance  damped  their  ardor  and  the  "  sport," 
whatever  it  was,  came  to  a  standstill.  Then  came 
some  pantomime  from  my  guide,  who  introduced 
me  to  the  trio  as  an  actor  from  America,  at  which 
they  assumed  an  extravagant  air  of  wonder  and 
amazement,  evidently  guying  me.  So  feeling 
themselves  quite  at  ease,  the  merriment  again 
proceeded.  It  was  quite  evident  to  me  that  there 
was  a  love  affair  between  the  pretty  girl  and  the 
handsomer  of  the  young  actors.  He  was  a  grace- 
ful young  fellow,  with  blond,  curly  hair  and  blue 
eyes,  and  I  presumed  he  was  the  rising  young 
lover  of  some  small  theater  in  the  neighborhood. 
The  other  actor  was  undoubtedly  a  low  comedian 
of  the  same  establishment.  He  was  the  reverse  of 
the  blond  lover,  hideously  ugly,  with  a  turned-up 
nose,  and  a  wide  gash  in  the  middle  of  his  face 
for  a  mouth.  He  looked  like  a  monkey,  and 
was  quite  as  full  of  tricks.  Assuming  a  gro- 
tesquely tragic  air,  he  grasped  me  by  the  hand 


180  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

as  if  I  were  his  long-lost  brother,  then,  pointing 
despairingly  at  the  lovers,  gave  me  to  understand 
in  pantomime  that  his  life  was  blasted  by  unre- 
quited affection.  Then  he  fell  upon  his  knees  to 
the  girl  and  implored  her  love;  she  laughed,  of 
course.  This  started  him  to  his  feet,  and  with 
a  sudden  spring  he  picked  up  a  Roman  helmet, 
cocked  it  sidewise  on  his  head,  seized  a  poker, 
and  rushed  upon  his  rival.  Then  he  paused,  and, 
bursting  into  tears,  relented.  Now  taking  the 
lovers'  hands  he  joined  them  in  wedlock,  invoked 
a  blessing  on  them  from  Heaven,  stabbed  himself 
with  the  poker,  and  rushed  out  into  the  front  shop 
amidst  the  laughter  and  merriment  of  his  audi- 
ence. To  me  this  seemed  a  very  happy  party, 
and  though  I  understood  very  little  of  what  they 
were  saying,  it  was  quite  enough  to  convince  me 
that  some  of  their  fun  was  at  my  expense.  The 
old  woman  now  led  the  way  up  a  dark,  narrow 
staircase  to  a  room  of  wonders  above.  The  walls 
were  hung  with  fantastic  dresses,  spears,  shields, 
and  masks  with  decidedly  French  expressions  of 
countenance.  She  pointed  quietly  to  all  these 
things,  but  rather  disparaged  them. 

Now  she  came  to  a  high,  black  leather  trunk 
with  a  round  top  and  clamped  all  over  with  iron 
bands  and  hinges.  This  contained  glittering  suits 
of  Roman  armor.  A  shining  breastplate  was  dis- 
played to  tempt  me.  I  explained  that  that  style  of 
thing  was  not  in  my  line.  So  with  a  sweet  smile, 
somewhat  tinged  with  pity,  I  think,  she  shrugged 
her  shoulders  and  passed  on  to  a  large,  flat, 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  181 

wooden  box  like  a  monster  sea-chest  with  an 
old-fashioned  padlock  on  it,  big  enough  for  the 
Bank  of  England.  She  pointed  to  the  box  with 
admiration,  as  though  she  would  say,  "Ah,  you 
don't  know  what  lovely  things  are  stored  there, 
and  so  cheap."  She  first  displayed  a  black  court 
suit  with  polished  steel  buttons,  very  fine,  but  too 
large  and  too  somber.  Next  came  a  royal  purple 
silk  velvet  one,  embroidered  with  gold  and  foil- 
stones.  I  lost  my  heart  to  this  at  once,  and  the 
sly  old  woman  knew  it.  I  tried  to  look  as  if  I 
did  n't  care  for  it,  but  failed.  It  would  n't  do 
with  her.  She  saw  through  me,  and  began  to  fold 
it  up  with  a  loving  hand,  as  though  she  could  n't 
part  with  it  for  the  world.  She  spoke  no  English ; 
and  as  I  was  equally  skilled  in  French,  we  talked 
through  my  guide.  He,  of  course,  professed  to  be 
on  my  side,  but,  from  certain  suspicious  intonations, 
I  fancy  he  slightly  favored  the  old  woman. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  price  ?  " 

"  Five  hundred  francs."  She  said  this  with  an 
injured  air,  as  if  she  hoped  I  would  n't  give  it,  but 
of  course  I  did  give  it. 

One  article  after  another  was  tried  on;  some 
reluctantly  cast  aside,  others  eagerly  purchased.  As 
each  new  treasure  came  into  my  possession  it  was 
placed  in  the  cab  by  my  guide.  I  did  not  want 
them  sent  home  —  no,  I  would  take  them  myself; 
then  I  had  misgivings  that  the  cabman  might  drive 
off  with  my  booty.  I  must  have  made  Frangois 
take  his  number  three  times  at  least,  and  put  it 
in  my  different  pockets,  fearing  I  should  lose  it 


182  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

At  last  I  had  gone  through  all  the  shops  in  the 
Temple.  The  longing  eyes  of  the  old  French- 
woman followed  me  from  door  to  door,  the  cab  was 
full,  the  purse  was  empty,  and  now  I  had  a  feverish 
anxiety  to  get  away.  I  was  convinced  I  had  bought 
these  wonders  at  half  their  value,  and  I  feared  that 
the  venders  would  regret  having  sold  them,  and 
before  I  could  depart  demand  them  back.  So  we 
jumped  into  the  cab,  gave  the  word,  and  drove  to 
the  hotel. 

Three  lovely  weeks  in  Paris ;  it  seemed  like  a 
dream.     Then  I  awakened  and  sailed  for  home. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WITH   LAURA   KEENE 

"  The  Heir-at-Law  "  — Dramatic  Action  — "  Our 
American  Cousin"  —  A  Theatrical  Quarrel  — 
Changes  in  Old  Plays  —  "  The  Duchess  " 

THE  opening  of  Laura  Keene's  theater,  in 
September,  1857,  was  an  important  event 
to  me.  I  had  been  engaged  for  the  leading 
comedy,  and  it  was  my  first  appearance  on  the 
western  side  of  the  city.  Miss  Keene  had  never 
seen  me,  either  on  or  off  the  stage.  It  was  looked 
upon  as  a  kind  of  presumption  in  those  days  for  an 
American  actor  to  intrude  himself  into  a  Broadway 
theater ;  the  domestic  article  seldom  aspired  to  any- 
thing higher  than  the  Bowery ;  consequently  I  was 
regarded  as  something  of  an  interloper.  I  am  afraid 
I  rather  gloried  in  this,  for  in  my  youth  I  was  confi- 
dent and  self- asserting ;  besides,  there  was  a  strong 
feeling  among  my  artistic  countrymen  that  the  Eng- 
lish managers  had  dealt  unjustly  with  us,  and  I  nat- 
urally shared  in  this  feeling.  I  have  since  come  to 

183 


184  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  conclusion  that  the  managers  do  not  open  the- 
aters for  the  purpose  of  injuring  any  one. 

At  all  events,  I  was  installed  as  the  comedian  at 
Laura  Keene's  theater,  and  opened  in  Colman's 
comedy  of  "The  Heir-at-Law."  One  of  the  lead- 
ing papers,  in  alluding  to  my  performance,  men- 
tioned the  fact  that  a  "  nervous,  fidgety  young 
man,  by  the  name  of  Jefferson,  appeared  as  Dr. 
Pangloss,  into  which  character  he  infused  a  num- 
ber of  curious  interpolations,  occasionally  using  the 
text  prepared  by  the  author." 

The  critic  struck  the  keynote  of  a  popular  dra- 
matic error  that  has  existed  through  all  time,  and  I 
shall  make  bold  just  here  to  call  attention  to  it. 
Old  plays,  and  particularly  old  comedies,  are  filled 
with  traditional  introductions,  good  and  bad.  If 
an  actor,  in  exercising  his  taste  and  judgment,  pre- 
sumes to  leave  out  any  of  these  respectable  antiq- 
uities, he  is,  by  the  conventional  critic,  considered 
sacrilegious  in  ignoring  them.  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  in  amplifying  the  traditional  business  he 
introduces  new  material,  he  is  thought  to  be  equally 
impertinent ;  whereas  the  question  as  to  the  intro- 
duction should  be  whether  it  is  good  or  bad,  not 
whether  it  is  old  or  new.  If  there  is  any  preference 
it  should  be  given  to  the  new,  which  must  neces- 
sarily be  fresh  and  original,  while  the  old  is  only  a 
copy. 

Laura  Keene's  judgment  in  selecting  plays  was 
singularly  bad ;  she  invariably  allowed  herself  to 
be  too  much  influenced  by  their  literary  merit  or 
the  delicacy  of  their  treatment.  If  these  features 
were  prominent  in  any  of  the  plays  she  read,  her 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "DR.  PANGLOSS." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  185 

naturally  refined  taste  would  cling  to  them  with 
such  tenacity  that  no  argument  but  the  potent  one 
of  public  neglect  could  convince  her  that  she  had 
been  misled  in  producing  them.  I  do  not  say  that 
polished  dialogue  or  delicately  drawn  characters 
are  detrimental  to  a  play  —  on  the  contrary,  they 
assist  it ;  but  if  these  qualities  are  not  coupled  with 
a  sympathetic  story,  containing  human  interest,  and 
told  in  action  rather  than  in  words,  they  seldom 
reach  beyond  the  footlights. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  to  define  here,  to  the  non-pro- 
fessional reader,  what  is  meant  by  dramatic  action, 
as  sometimes  this  term  is  mistaken  for  pantomime. 
Pantomime  is  action,  certainly  ;  but  not  necessarily 
dramatic  action,  which  is  the  most  essential  element 
in  the  construction  of  a  play.  A  drama  will  often 
give  one  no  idea  of  its  strength  in  the  reading  of 
it ;  even  in  rehearsal  it  will  sometimes  fail  to  re- 
veal its  power.  I  have  on  several  occasions  seen 
even  the  author  of  a  play  surprised  at  the  exhibition 
of  its  dramatic  action  on  its  first  representation 
before  an  audience,  he  himself  not  being  aware  that 
his  work  contained  the  hidden  treasure,  until  the 
sympathy  of  the  public  revealed  it.  Sometimes  the 
point  of  unexpected  interest  consists  in  the  relation- 
ship between  two  characters,  or  the  peculiar  em- 
phasis laid  upon  a  single  word  that  has  been  spoken 
in  a  previous  act.  But  to  illustrate  more  fully  what 
I  desire  to  explain  I  will  take  two  dramatic  actions, 
one  from  comedy  and  the  other  from  tragedy,  to  set 
forth  the  subject  clearly. 

In  one  of  Victorien  Sardou's  plays  —  and  this 
gentleman  is  perhaps  the  most  ingenious  playwright 


186  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

of  our  time  —  the  following  incident  occurs.  The 
audience  are  first  made  fully  aware  that  a  lady  in 
the  play  uses  a  certain  kind  of  perfume.  This  is 
done  casually,  so  that  they  do  not  suspect  that  the 
matter  will  again  be  brought  to  their  notice.  She 
abstracts  some  valuable  papers  from  a  cabinet,  and 
when  they  are  missed  no  one  can  tell  who  has  taken 
them.  The  mystery  is  inexplicable.  Suspicion 
falls  upon  an  innocent  person.  The  audience,  who 
well  know  how  the  matter  stands,  are  on  tenter- 
hooks of  anxiety,  fearing  that  the  real  culprit  will 
not  be  detected.  When  this  feeling  is  at  white 
heat  one  of  the  characters  finds  a  piece  of  paper  in 
the  desk  and  is  attracted  to  it  by  the  perfume.  He 
puts  it  to  his  nose,  sniffs  it,  and  as  a  smile  of  triumph 
steals  over  his  face  the  audience,  without  a  word 
being  spoken,  realize  that  the  thief  is  detected. 
Observe  here,  too,  the  ingenuity  of  the  dramatist : 
the  audience  are  in  the  secret  with  him  ;  they  have 
seen  the  papers  stolen  ;  it  is  no  news  to  them  ;  but 
when  the  characters  in  whom  they  are  interested 
become  as  much  enlightened  as  they  are  the  climax 
is  complete. 

For  an  illustration  of  this  point,  as  applied  to 
tragedy.  After  the  murder  of  Duncan,  Macbeth, 
standing  with  his  wife  in  a  dark  and  gloomy  hall, 
looks  at  his  bloody  hands  and  apostrophizes  them 
in  these  terrible  words: 

Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood 
Clean  from  my  hand  ?     No,  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine, 
Making  the  green  one  red. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  187 

Now  there  is  a  silence,  and  when  he  is  alone  there 
echoes  through  the  castle  a  knocking  at  the  gate. 
The  friends  of  the  murdered  guest  have  come  for 
him ;  and  they  thunder  at  the  portals,  while  the 
blood-stained  host  stands  as  if  stricken  down  with 
terror  and  remorse.  It  is  not  the  dialogue,  as  pow- 
erful as  it  is,  which  strikes  the  audience  with  awe ; 
it  is  simply  a  stage  direction  of  the  great  dramatic 
master — a  "  knocking  at  the  gate."  It  will,  I  think, 
be  seen  by  these  two  illustrations  that  a  fluent  and 
imaginative  writer  may  construct  plots,  create  char- 
acters, and  compose  exquisite  verse,  and  yet  not 
succeed  as  a  playwright  unless  he  possesses  the 
art  or  gift  of  creating  dramatic  action. 

As  an  actress  and  manager  Laura  Keene  was 
both  industrious  and  talented.  If  she  could  have 
afforded  it,  no  expense  would  have  been  spared  in 
the  production  of  her  plays ;  but  theatrical  matters 
were  at  a  low  ebb  during  the  early  part  of  her  ca- 
reer, and  the  memorable  panic  of  1857  was  almost 
fatal  to  her.  In  the  midst  of  financial  difficulties 
she  displayed  great  taste  and  judgment  in  making 
cheap  articles  look  like  expensive  ones,  and  both  in 
her  stage  setting  and  costumes  exhibited  the  most 
skillful  and  effective  economy.  She  was  a  high- 
mettled  lady,  and  could  be  alarmingly  imperious  to 
her  subjects  with  but  little  trouble. 

I  call  the  panic  of  1857  "memorable,"  for  surely 
the  actors  and  managers  who  struggled  through 
the  vicissitudes  of  that  season  must  have  a  vivid 
remembrance  of  the  various  shifts  and  economical 
devices  of  that  disastrous  time — disastrous  not 


188  JHE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

only  to  theaters  but  to  all  kinds  of  commercial 
pursuits.  Banks  that  had  been  thought  impreg- 
nable were  swept  out  of  existence.  Long  rows  of 
despairing  depositors  stood  in  lines  eagerly  be- 
sieging their  delinquent  trustees.  One  institution 
alone  withstood  the  shock, — the  Chemical  Bank, — 
and  naturally  gained  for  itself  a  most  enviable  rep- 
utation. Wall  street  was  in  a  collapsed  condition, 
and  placards  of  "To  Let"  stood  out  in  bold  relief 
upon  private  residences,  almost  as  numerous  as 
the  houses  themselves.  People  who  had  lived  be- 
yond their  means  found  their  extravagance  checked 
by  an  unlooked-for  depression  of  their  precarious 
incomes.  Horses  and  carriages  were  sold  for  a 
song.  That  conventional  army  of  gentlemen  who 
are  always  selling  their  teams,  because  they  and 
their  families  are  about  to  go  to  Europe,  increased 
so  alarmingly  that  column  after  column  of  the 
daily  papers  were  filled  with  announcements  of 
their  intended  departures. 

Under  such  conditions  naturally  the  theaters 
were  great  sufferers.  Salary  day  —  that  ever  -wel- 
come Monday  —  was  deferred  first  until  Tuesday, 
then  until  Wednesday,  then  until  Thursday — and 
finally  disappeared  altogether.  The  bands  struck 
with  one  accord,  and  as  usual  got  their  money ; 
the  actors  revolted  and  as  usual  did  not  get 
it.  The  public  despondently  staid  at  home, 
the  theaters  were  empty,  the  managers  de- 
pressed, and  the  actors  jolly.  This  seems  in- 
credible, but  the  members  of  my  profession,  at 
least  in  the  old  time,  were  always  in  the  best 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON     AS     "  DR.    PANGL.OSS.' 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  189 

of  spirits  when  business  was  bad  and  salaries  were 
uncertain. 

Just  at  this  juncture  Miss  Keene  produced  a  local 
farcical  comedy  called  "Splendid  Misery  " — a  most 
appropriate  title  and  well  suited  to  the  financial 
crisis  through  which  the  country  was  passing,  and 
in  keeping,  too,  with  the  straitened  circum- 
stances of  many  families  that  were  suffering  from 
their  previous  extravagance.  There  were  several 
local  hits  in  the  play  which  pointed  so  plainly  to 
the  prevailing  panic  that  they  were  much  enjoyed 
by  the  slim  audiences  that  beheld  them. 

Business  had  fallen  off  and  the  theater  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  follow  in  the  train  of  bankruptcy  that 
was  dragging  everything  after  it,  when  I  hit  upon 
the  idea  of  producing  what  was  deemed  a  shock- 
ing innovation  in  a  legitimate  Broadway  theater. 
Casting  about  for  a  novel  that  might  be  turned 
into  a  strong  military  drama,  I  came  upon  George 
Lepard's  Revolutionary  story  entitled  "  Blanche 
of  Brandywine."  Battles,  marches  and  counter- 
marches, murders,  abductions,  hairbreadth  es- 
capes, militia  trainings,  and  extravagant  Yankee 
comicalities  boiled  over  in  every  chapter.  James 
G.  Burnett,  the  stage-manager,  and  I  soon  con- 
cocted a  soul-stirring  drama  from  this  material  and 
it  was  accepted  by  Miss  Keene,  the  manageress. 

She  was  most  indefatigable  in  her  rehearsals 
and  spared  neither  time  nor  pains  in  planning 
her  effects,  but  was  greatly  deficient  in  system, 
and  while  acknowledging  that  Mr.  Burnett 
and  I  had  prepared  at  least  an  effective  play, 


190  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

she  insisted  upon  arranging  the  business  and 
conducting  the  rehearsals.  Of  course  we  gave 
way,  being  only  anxious  that  success  should  be 
achieved,  and  were  quite  willing  to  allow  her 
the  credit  of  its  production.  She  possessed  but 
slight  experience  in  melodrama,  as  her  previous 
schooling  had  been  mostly  gained  from  the  light 
comedy  productions  of  the  London  Lyceum,  or 
the  legitimate  plays  that  were  produced  at  Wai- 
lack's  Theater  while  she  was  a  member  of  the 
stock  company ;  so  that  when  she  got  into  the 
realm  of  red-hot  conspiracies,  blazing  haystacks, 
and  rifle-balls,  she  was  quite  at  the  mercy  of  the 
enemy. 

The  second  act  of  our  play  ended  with  the  bat- 
tle of  Bunker  Hill,  which  I  had  arranged  should 
be  given  as  a  tableau  rather  than  as  an  action, 
from  Trumbull's  picture  of  the  "  Death  of  War- 
ren "  or  "The  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill."  It  was 
so  well  known,  and  its  leading  features  presented 
such  a  fine  opportunity  for  effective  grouping, 
that  we  decided  to  have  the  stage  raised  to  rep- 
resent a  mound  covered  with  grass,  and  to  ar- 
range the  figures  in  exactly  the  same  manner 
as  in  the  famous  painting.  On  the  morning 
the  tableau  was  to  be  grouped,  Miss  Keene  ap- 
peared with  the  engraving,  which  she  unrolled 
with  a  proud  air  and  Sir  Oracle  demeanor  that 
was  all  the  more  amusing  to  me  as  I  knew  she 
was  in  deep  water,  and  likely  to  sink  at  the  first 
plunge.  We  (the  company)  were  assembled  and 
the  stage-manager  eyed  us  with  a  sidelong  look  of 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  191 

anything  but  approval.  After  a  preliminary  cough 
or  two  Miss  Keene  charged  up  the  hill  and  pre- 
pared for  action. 

Looking  over  the  scroll,  which  every  now  and 
then  would  keep  rolling  itself  up,  much  to  her  annoy- 
ance and  our  smothered  delight,  she  began  to  place 
us  in  our  different  and,  I  may  say,  difficult  positions. 
One  would  be  made  to  rest  upon  his  elbow  while 
another  was  arranged  to  stand  over  him  with  an 
uplifted  gun.  The  next  gentleman,  a  cruel  British 
officer,  was  then  told  to  be  on  the  point  of  thrusting 
a  bayonet  into  the  vital  regions  of  some  American 
patriot.  The  wounded  Warren  was  ordered  to  lie 
down  in  an  uncomfortable  position  and  be  held  by  a 
friend.  This  was  all  very  well,  and  for  a  brief  period 
these  attitudes  could  be  maintained ;  but  by  the  time 
Miss  Keene  had  got  through  the  militia  the  regular 
army  was  completely  worn  out.  Then  she  began 
to  badger  Warren,  telling  him  to  lie  with  his  head  a 
little  more  that  way,  or  a  trifle  more  the  other  way, 
besides  requesting  him  to  look  exhausted  —  which 
expression,  however,  under  the  circumstances,  he 
had  taken  quite  of  his  own  accord. 

"You  are  out  of  position  again,"  Miss  Keene 
would  say  to  some  old  soldier.  "  Now  observe,  I 
want  you  to  stand — well,  look  here,"  and  away 
would  go  the  scroll  again  as  if  it  were  on  a  spring 
roller. 

"  General  Warren,  you  have  got  your  head  all 
wrong  again." 

"  I  cannot  stand  it,"  said  the  hero ;  "  my  head  has 
been  in  that  position  for  twenty  minutes." 


192  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  do  not  think  that  the  original  general  could 
have  suffered  more  than  did  his  counterfeit  on  this 
occasion.  By  this  time  every  one  was  exhausted, 
Miss  Keene  included,  so  there  was  nothing  left 
but  to  dismiss  the  army  and  hold  a  council  of 
war. 

I  now  saw  that  the  arrangement  of  a  tableau 
from  a  picture  with  so  many  figures  was  a  more 
difficult  matter  than  I  had  at  first  imagined. 
Miss  Keene  declared  that  it  could  not  be  done  at 
all,  and  I  was  myself  beginning  to  think  we  were 
nonplussed,  when  Burnett  came  to  the  rescue  with 
a  simple  suggestion  which  made  the  way  clear  at 
once.  His  idea  was  that  the  characters  in  the  en- 
graving should  be  cast  just  as  they  would  be  in  a 
play.  Thus  each  figure  in  the  picture  was  marked 
with  the  name  of  the  actor  who  was  to  represent  it. 
The  engraving  was  then  hung  up  in  the  greenroom 
where  each  one  could  look  at  it  and  so  study  the 
attitude  he  was  to  take.  This  was  caught  up  at 
once ;  their  names  were  then  marked  upon  the 
mound  in  chalk,  and  when  the  word  was  given  to 
strike  the  tableau  each  one  took  the  position,  as- 
sumed his  attitude,  and  the  picture  was  complete. 

I  have  alluded  to  this  incident  as  I  think  it  per- 
haps worth  while  to  record  a  simple  manner  of  ar- 
ranging characters  for  a  tableau  from  a  picture. 

Before  concluding  this  incident  I  desire  to  pay 
my  respects  to  Mr.  James  G.  Burnett,  as  he  was 
intimately  connected  with  Laura  Keene's  theater 
both  as  an  actor  and  stage-manager.  Our  friend- 
ship extended  over  a  term  of  many  years,  and 


>  • 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  193 

I  cannot  call  to  mind  one  act  of  his  that  was 
not  characterized  by  honesty  and  truth.  In  the 
earlier  part  of  his  life  he  was  sorely  tried  by  an 
accumulation  of  domestic  ills,  and  I  know  that  he 
bore  his  troubles  with  patience  and  dignity.  As 
an  actor,  during  the  latter  part  of  his  life  he  im- 
proved wonderfully;  he  acted  Sir  Anthony  Ab- 
solute and  Lord  Duberly  with  me  in  St.  Louis,  and 
rendered  them  with  fine  effect. 

During  the  season  of  1858-59  Miss  Keene  pro- 
duced Tom  Taylor's  play  of  "  Our  American 
Cousin,"  and  as  its  success  was  remarkable  and 
some  noteworthy  occurrences  took  place  in  con- 
nection with  it,  a  record  of  its  career  will  perhaps 
be  interesting.  The  play  had  been  submitted  by 
Mr.  Taylor's  agent  to  another  theater,  but  the 
management  failing  to  see  anything  striking  in  it, 
an  adverse  judgment  was  passed  and  the  comedy 
rejected.  It  was  next  offered  to  Laura  Keene, 
who  also  thought  but  little  of  the  play,  which 
remained  neglected  upon  her  desk  for  some  time ; 
but  it  so  chanced  that  the  business  manager  of  the 
theater,  Mr.  John  Lutz,  in  turning  over  the  leaves 
fancied  that  he  detected  something  in  the  play  of 
a  novel  character.  Here  was  a  rough  man,  hav- 
ing no  dramatic  experience,  but  gifted  with  keen, 
practical  sense,  who  discovered  at  a  glance  an 
effective  play,  the  merits  of  which  had  escaped 
the  vigilance  of  older  and,  one  would  have  sup- 
posed, better  judges.  He  gave  me  the  play  to 
read.  While  it  possessed  but  little  literary  merit, 
there  was  a  fresh,  breezy  atmosphere  about  the 


194  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

characters  and  the  story  that  attracted  me  very 
much.  I  saw,  too,  the  chance  of  making  a 
strong  character  of  the  leading  part,  and  so  I 
was  quite  selfish  enough  to  recommend  the  play 
for  production. 

The  reading  took  place  in  the  greenroom,  at 
which  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  company 
were  assembled,  and  many  furtive  glances  were 
cast  at  Mr.  Couldock  and  me  as  the  strength 
of  Abel  Murcott  and  Asa  Trenchard  were  re- 
vealed. Poor  Sothern  sat  in  the  corner,  looking 
quite  disconsolate,  fearing  that  there  was  nothing 
in  the  play  that  would  suit  him ;  and  as  the  dismal 
lines  of  Dundreary  were  read  he  glanced  over 
at  me  with  a  forlorn  expression,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  I  am  cast  for  that  dreadful  part,"  little 
dreaming  that  the  character  of  the  imbecile  lord 
would  turn  out  to  be  the  stepping-stone  of  his 
fortune.  The  success  of  the  play  proved  the 
turning-point  in  the  career  of  three  persons  — 
Laura  Keene,  Sothern,  and  myself. 

As  the  treasury  began  to  fill,  Miss  Keene  began 
to  twinkle  with  little  brilliants ;  gradually  her  splen- 
dor increased,  until  at  the  end  of  three  months  she 
was  ablaze  with  diamonds.  Whether  these  were 
new  additions  to  her  impoverished  stock  of  jew- 
elry, or  the  return  of  old  friends  that  had  been 
parted  with  in  adversity, —  old  friends  generally 
leave  us  under  these  circumstances, —  I  cannot 
say,  but  possibly  the  latter. 

The  dramatic  situation  that  struck  me  as  the 
most  important  one  in  this  play  was  the  love  scene 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  195 

in  the  opening  of  the  last  act.  It  was  altogether 
fresh,  original,  and  perfectly  natural,  and  I  notice 
that  in  this  important  phase  of  dramatic  composi- 
tion authors  are  conspicuously  weak. 

The  love  scenes  in  most  all  of  our  modern  plays 
are  badly  constructed.  In  the  English  dramas 
they  are  sentimental  and  insipid,  being  filled  with 
either  flowery  nonsense  or  an  extravagance  border- 
ing upon  burlesque ;  while  the  love  scenes  in  the 
French  plays  are  coarse  and  disgusting.  Sardou 
has  written  but  few  female  characters  for  whom  one 
can  feel  the  slightest  respect.  For  instance,  which 
one  would  a  man  select  to  be  his  mother  were  he 
compelled  to  make  a  choice  ?  I  think  it  would  puz- 
zle him.  The  love  scenes  between  Alfred  Evelyn 
and  Clara  Douglas,  in  Bulwer's  play  of  "Money," 
are  stilted,  unnatural,  and  cold.  The  passages  in- 
tended to  display  affection  in  the  "  Lady  of  Lyons  " 
are  still  further  from  "  imitating  humanity,"  and  the 
speech  of  Claude  to  Pauline,  beginning  with 

In  a  deep  vale  shut  out  by  alpine  hills 

is  so  glaringly  absurd  that  the  audience  invariably 
smile  at  the  delivery  of  this  soft  extravagance. 

The  greatest  love  scene  that  ever  was  or  ever 
will  be  written  is  known  as  the  balcony  scene  in 
"Romeo  and  Juliet."  This  is  a  perfect  model,  be- 
ing full  of  the  most  exquisite  humor. 

Natural  love  off  the  stage  is  almost  invariably 
humorous,  even  comic  —  not  to  the  lovers'  minds ; 
oh,  no !  'T  is  serious  business  to  them,  and  that 
is  just  what  makes  it  so  delightful  to  look  at.  The 


196  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

third  party,  when  there  is  one,  enjoys  it  highly. 
The  principals  do  the  most  foolish  things :  the  gen- 
tleman cannot  make  up  his  mind  what  to  do  with 
his  hat  or  with  his  hands,  the  lady  is  awkward  and 
shy,  and  the  more  they  love  each  other  the  more 
comical  they  are.  They  say  stupid  things,  and 
agree  with  each  other  before  they  have  half  done 
expressing  an  opinion. 

It  was  the  opportunity  of  developing  this  attitude 
of  early  love,  particularly  love  at  first  sight,  that 
attracted  me  to  the  "  Cousin."  Simple  and  trifling 
as  it  looks,  Mr.  Tom  Taylor  never  drew  a  finer 
dramatic  picture.  The  relation  between  the  two 
characters  was  perfectly  original.  A  shrewd,  keen 
Yankee  boy  of  twenty-five  falls  in  love  at  first  sight 
with  a  simple,  loving,  English  dairymaid  of  eighteen. 
She  innocently  sits  on  the  bench,  close  beside  him ; 
he  is  fascinated  and  draws  closer  to  her ;  she  raises 
her  eyes  in  innocent  wonder  at  this,  and  he  glides 
gently  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  bench.  He  never 
tells  her  of  his  love,  nor  does  she  in  the  faintest 
manner  suggest  her  affection  for  him  ;  and  though 
they  persistently  talk  of  other  things,  you  see 
plainly  how  deeply  they  are  in  love.  He  relates 
the  story  of  his  uncle's  death  in  America,  and  dur- 
ing this  recital  asks  her  permission  to  smoke  a 
cigar.  With  apparent  carelessness  he  takes  out  a 
paper,  a  will  made  in  his  favor  by  the  old  man, 
which  document  disinherits  the  girl ;  with  this  he 
lights  his  cigar,  thereby  destroying  his  rights  and 
resigning  them  to  her.  The  situation  is  strained, 
certainly,  but  it  is  very  effective,  and  an  audience 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "ASA  TRENCHARD. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  197 

will  always  pardon  a  slight  extravagance  if  it 
charms  while  it  surprises  them.  The  cast  was  an 
exceedingly  strong  one  —  Laura  Keene  as  the  re- 
fined, rural  belle,  and  Sara  Stevens  as  the  modest, 
loving,  English  dairymaid.  Both  looked  and  acted 
the  parts  perfectly.  The  Abel  Murcott  of  Mr. 
Couldock  was  a  gem,  and  the  extravagant  force 
and  humor  of  Mr.  Sothern's  Dundreary,  the  fame 
of  which  afterwards  resounded  all  over  the  English- 
speaking  world,  is  too  well  known  to  need  any 
comment,  except  perhaps  to  mention  one  or  two 
matters  connected  with  it  of  a  curious  nature. 

As  I  have  before  said,  Sothern  was  much  de- 
jected at  being  compelled  to  play  the  part.  He 
said  he  could  do  nothing  with  it,  and  certainly  for 
the  first  two  weeks  it  was  a  dull  effort,  and  produced 
but  little  effect.  So  in  despair  he  began  to  intro- 
duce extravagant  business  into  his  character,  skip- 
ping about  the  stage,  stammering  and  sneezing, 
and,  in  short,  doing  all  he  could  to  attract  and  dis- 
tract the  attention  of  the  audience.  To  the  surprise 
of  every  one,  himself  included,  these  antics,  intended 
by  him  to  injure  the  character,  were  received  by 
the  audience  with  delight.  He  was  a  shrewd  man 
as  well  as  an  effective  actor,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance 
that  accident  had  revealed  to  him  a  golden  oppor- 
tunity. He  took  advantage  of  it,  and  with  cautious 
steps  increased  his  speed,  feeling  the  ground  well 
under  him  as  he  proceeded.  Before  the  first  month 
was  over  he  stood  side  by  side  with  any  other  char- 
acter in  the  play  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  run  he  was, 
in  my  opinion,  considerably  in  advance  of  us  all. 


198  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

And  his  success  in  London,  in  the  same  character, 
fully  attests,  whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary, 
that  as  an  extravagant,  eccentric  comedian  in  the 
modern  range  of  comedy  he  was  quite  without  a 
rival.  His  performance  of  Sam  which  I  saw  at  the 
Haymarket  Theater,  in  London,  was  a  still  finer 
piece  of  acting  than  his  Dundreary.  It  was  equally 
strong,  and  had  the  advantage  of  the  other  in  not 
being  overdrawn  or  extravagant. 

Miss  Keene  was  undoubtedly  delighted  at  Soth- 
ern's  rising  fame.  I  think  she  found  that  I  was 
becoming  too  strong  to  manage,  and  naturally  felt 
that  his  success  in  rivaling  mine  would  answer  as 
a  curb,  and  so  enable  her  to  drive  me  with  more 
ease  and  a  tighter  rein.  I  don't  blame  her  for  this  : 
as  an  actor  has  a  right  to  protect  himself  against 
the  tyranny  of  a  manager,  the  manager  has  an 
equal  right  to  guard  the  discipline  of  the  theater ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  perhaps  unconsciously 
exhibited  a  confidence  in  my  growing  strength  that 
made  her  a  little  apprehensive  lest  I  should  try  to 
manage  her.  In  this  she  did  me  an  injustice,  which 
I  am  happy  to  say  in  after  years  the  lady  acknow- 
ledged. The  first  rupture  between  us  came  about 
somewhat  in  this  way  :  The  Duchess  —  as  she  was 
familiarly  called  by  the  actors,  on  the  sly  —  had  ar- 
ranged some  new  business  with  Mr.  Sothern,  neg- 
lecting to  inform  me  of  it.  I  got  the  regular  cue 
for  entering,  and  as  I  came  upon  the  stage  I  natu- 
rally, but  unintentionally,  interrupted  their  precon- 
ceived arrangements.  This  threw  matters  into  a 
confusion  which  was  quite  apparent  to  the  audience. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  199 

Miss  Keene,  not  stopping  to  consider  that  I  had 
been  kept  in  ignorance  of  her  plan  and  that  the 
fault  was  hers  and  not  mine,  turned  suddenly  on 
me,  and  speaking  out  so  loudly  and  plainly  that 
most  of  the  audience  could  hear  her,  said,  "  Go  off 
the  stage,  sir,  till  you  get  your  cue  for  entering." 

I  was  thunderstruck.  There  was  a  dead  silence 
for  a  moment,  and  in  the  same  tone  and  with  the 
same  manner  she  had  spoken  to  me,  I  replied  : 
"  It  has  been  given,  and  I  will  not  retire." 
We  were  both  wrong.  No  actor  has  a  right  to 
show  up  to  the  audience  an  accident  or  a  fault  com- 
mitted on  the  stage,  or  intrude  upon  them  one's 
personal  misunderstandings.  As  two  wrongs  can- 
not make  a  right,  it  was  clearly  my  duty  to  pass 
this  by,  so  far  as  any  public  display  of  my  temper 
was  concerned,  and  then  demand  an  explanation  and 
an  apology  from  her  when  the  play  was  over.  But 

Who  can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and  furious, 
Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment  ? 

Besides,  I  felt  that  no  explanation  of  hers  could  set 
me  right  with  the  audience,  and  I  was  smarting 
under  the  injustice  of  her  making  me  appear  re- 
sponsible for  her  own  fault. 

When  the  curtain  fell  she  was  furious,  and  turn- 
ing on  me  with  flashing  eyes  and  an  imperious  air 
discharged  me  then  and  there.  I  might  leave  now 
if  I  liked,  and  she  would  dismiss  the  audience 
rather  than  submit  to  such  a  public  insult.  I  told 
her  that  if  she  considered  my  conduct  an  insult  to 
her,  that  it  was  a  confession  that  she  had  insulted 


200  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

me  first,  as  my  words  and  manner  were  but  a 
reflection  of  her  own.  This  sort  of  logic  only  made 
matters  worse.  So  I  informed  her  that  I  could  not 
take  a  discharge  given  in  the  heat  of  temper,  and 
would  remain.  The  play  proceeded,  but  she  was 
singularly  adroit,  and  by  her  manner  in  turning  her 
back  on  me  through  an  entire  scene,  and  assuming 
an  air  of  injured  innocence,  undoubtedly  made  the 
audience  believe  that  I  was  a  cruel  wretch  to  insult 
her  in  so  public  a  way.  She  had  the  advantage 
of  me  all  through,  for  when  her  temper  was  shown 
to  me  the  play  was  proceeding,  and  I  dare  say 
that  in  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  the  scene  very 
few  of  the  audience  could  understand  what  she 
had  done ;  whereas  when  I  retaliated  there  had 
been  a  pause,  and  they  got  the  full  force  of  what 
I  said. 

When  an  actor  shows  his  temper  upon  the  stage 
the  audience  feel  insulted  that  they  should  be 
called  upon  to  sympathize  with  his  private  quar- 
rels. The  actor  is  the  loser,  depend  upon  it. 

Mr.  Rufus  Blake  was  attached  to  our  company 
during  this  season,  but  in  consequence  of  the  great 
success  of  "  Our  American  Cousin,"  in  which  he 
was  not  cast,  he  had  acted  but  little.  He  was  a 
superior  actor,  with  the  disadvantage  of  small  eyes, 
a  fat,  inexpressive  face,  and  a  heavy  and  unwieldy 
figure.  There  must  be  something  in  the  spirit  of 
an  actor  that  is  extremely  powerful  to  delight  an 
audience  when  he  is  hampered  like  this.  Without 
seeming  to  change  his  face  or  alter  the  stolid  look 
from  his  eyes,  Mr.  Blake  conveyed  his  meaning 


E.   A.   SOTHERN    AS    "LORD    DUNDREARY. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  201 

with  the  most  perfect  effect.  He  was  delicate  and 
minute  in  his  manner,  which  contrasted  oddly 
enough  with  his  ponderous  form.  We  acted  this 
one  season  together  and  were  very  good  friends. 
On  one  occasion  only  was  this  harmony  marred. 
He  rated  me  for  curtailing  some  of  the  speeches  of 
a  part  in  one  of  the  old  comedies.  I  told  him  that 
I  had  my  own  ideas  on  these  matters,  one  of  which 
was  that  the  plays  were  written  for  a  past  age, 
that  society  had  changed,  and  that  it  seemed  to  me 
good  taste  to  alter  the  text,  when  it  could  be  done 
without  detriment,  to  suit  the  audience  of  the 
present  day ;  particularly  when  the  lines  were 
coarse,  and  unfit  for  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  speak 
or  listen  to.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  he 
considered  it  a  liberty  in  any  young  man  to  set  him- 
self up  as  an  authority  in  such  matters,  and  that  my 
course  was  a  tacit  reproach  to  older  and  better 
judges,  and  even  hinted  that  some  people  did  that 
sort  of  thing  to  make  professional  capital  out  of  it. 
I  thought  this  was  going  a  little  too  far  for  friend- 
ship. I  therefore  told  him,  with  little  reserve,  that 
as  he  had  taken  the  liberty  to  censure  my  course, 
I  would  make  bold  equally,  and  advise  him,  for 
his  own  sake,  to  follow  my  example. 

I  do  not  cite  this  quarrel  as  redounding  to  my 
credit.  Mr.  Blake  was  a  much  older  man  than 
I,  and  more  than  my  peer  as  an  actor  be- 
sides. It  was  not  only  my  words ;  I  was  angered, 
and  doubtless  my  manner  was  more  offensive  than 
what  I  had  said.  I  apologized,  however,  'and  we 
were  friends. 


202  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

As  Laura  Keene's  season  drew  to  a  close  she 
and  I  had  buried  our  differences  and  were  com- 
paratively good  friends  again ;  so  the  lady  was 
somewhat  surprised  to  learn  that  I  was  not  going 
to  remain  with  her  during  the  following  season, 
and  seemed  to  consider  it  unkind  of  me  to  with- 
draw from  the  theater  after  she  had  done  so  much 
to  advance  my  position.  This  is  the  somewhat 
unjust  ground  that  managers  often  take  when  an 
actor  desires  to  go  to  another  house.  This  is  un- 
reasonable, for  there  must  come  a  time  when  it  will 
be  for  the  interest  of  one  or  both  parties  that  they 
should  part ;  and  it  would  be  just  as  wrong  at  one 
time  as  at  another.  If  an  actor,  when  the  season 
is  concluded  and  his  obligations  are  at  an  end,  sees 
an  opportunity  of  increasing  his  salary  or  bettering 
his  position  by  going  to  another  establishment,  it 
would  be  an  injustice  to  himself  and  to  those  who 
depend  upon  him  not  to  do  so.  And  by  the  same 
reasoning,  if  a  manager  can  secure  better  talent,  at 
a  more  reasonable  price,  he  has  a  perfect  right  to 
replace  one  actor  by  another,  having  fulfilled  his 
engagement.  I  have  never  known  any  manager 
to  hesitate  in  pursuing  this  course,  unless  he  re- 
tained the  actor  as  an  act  of  charity,  and  then,  of 
course,  the  matter  is  a  purely  personal  one. 

Miss  Keene,  taking  the  unfair  view  I  have 
alluded  to,  was  highly  incensed  at  my  proposed 
departure.  She  considered  that,  having  been  the 
first  to  bring  me  to  New  York,  to  her  my  loyalty 
was  due,  and  in  common  gratitude  I  was  bound  not 
to  desert  the  theater  for  the  purpose,  as  she  sup- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  203 

posed,  of  joining  the  opposition  forces.  I  replied 
that,  so  far  as  my  ingratitude  was  concerned,  I 
failed  to  see  in  what  way  she  had  placed  me  under 
obligations ;  that  I  presumed  when  she  engaged 
me  for  her  theater  it  was  from  a  motive  of  profes- 
sional interest,  and  I  could  scarcely  think  it  was 
from  any  affection  for  me,  as  we  had  never  met  until 
the  engagement  was  made.  This  kind  of  logic  had 
anything  but  a  conciliating  effect.  So  I  concluded 
by  saying  that  I  had  no  idea  of  casting  my  lot  with 
the  opposition,  but  that  it  was  my  intention  to  star. 
"  Star !  Oh,  dear  !  Bless  me  !  Indeed  !  "  She  did 
not  say  this,  but  she  certainly  looked  it ;  and  as  she 
turned  her  eyes  heavenward  there  was  a  slight 
elevation  in  the  tip  of  her  beautiful  nose  that  gave 
me  no  encouragement  of  an  offer  from  her  under 
these  circumstances.  With  a  slight  tinge  of  con- 
tempt she  asked  me  with  what  I  intended  to  star. 
I  answered  that,  with  her  permission,  I  purposed 
to  act  "  Our  American  Cousin."  "  Which  I  decline 
to  give.  The  play  is  my  property,  and  you  shall 
not  act  it  outside  of  this  theater."  And  she  swept 
from  the  greenroom  with  anything  but  the  air  of  a 
comedienne. 

The  houses  were  still  overflowing,  and  there  was 
every  prospect  that  "Our  American  Cousin"  would 
run  through  the  season ;  but  Miss  Keene  was  tired 
of  acting  her  part  in  the  comedy,  and  was  deter- 
mined to  take  the  play  off  and  produce  "  A  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,"  which  had  been  in 
preparation  for  some  time,  and  in  fact  was  now 
in  readiness.  The  management  was  anxious  that 


204  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Mr.  Blake,  who  had  been  idle  for  some  four 
months,  should  be  in  the  cast,  so  that  the  play 
might  contain  the  full  strength  of  its  expensive 
company. 

The  Duchess,  being  in  high  dudgeon  with  me, 
deputed  her  business  manager,  Mr.  Lutz,  to 
approach  me  on  the  subject  of  the  cast,  propos- 
ing that  I  should  resign  the  part  of  Bottom  to 
Mr.  Blake,  and  at  the  same  time  requesting  me 
to  play  Puck.  This  I  positively  refused  to  do.  I 
told  him  plainly  that  Miss  Keene  had  taken  an 
antagonistic  stand  towards  me,  and  that  I  felt  that 
she  would  not  appreciate  a  favor  even  if  I  might 
feel  disposed  to  grant  it,  and  would  treat  any  con- 
cession that  I  should  make  as  weakness.  He  said 
that  Miss  Keene  had  begged  him  to  urge  the 
matter,  as  she  did  not  know  how  else  to  get  Mr. 
Blake  and  myself  into  the  cast.  "  Very  well,"  said 
I ;  "  if  that  is  all,  tell  her  I  will  play  Bottom,  and 
let  Mr.  Blake  play  Puck."  And  so  we  parted. 
Of  course  I  did  not  suppose  that  he  would  carry 
this  absurd  message,  as  Mr.  Blake  would  have 
turned  the  scale  at  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
and  looked  about  as  much  like  Puck  as  he  resem- 
bled a  fairy  queen.  But,  not  being  familiar  with 
Shakspere,  and  having  no  idea  what  the  charac- 
ters were  like,  he  gave  her  my  suggestion  word 
for  word.  This  put  the  fair  lady  in  a  high  temper, 
and  she  did  not  speak  to  me  for  a  week.  But  I 
stood  on  my  rights,  and  was  cast  for  Bottom, 
Miss  Keene  essaying  the  part  of  Puck  herself. 
After  three  or  four  rehearsals  I  discovered  I 


•\S.     K.     BLAKK. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  205 

should  fail  in  the  part  of  Bottom,  and  therefore 
deemed  it  wise  to  make  "  discretion  the  better 
part  of  valor,"  and  resign  the  character,  which  I 
did  upon  the  condition  that  I  might  take  the  play 
of  "  Our  American  Cousin"  upon  a  starring  tour, 
and  give  the  management  one-half  of  the  profits  for 
the  use  of  the  play. 

I  have  thought  that  perhaps  it  is  scarcely  in 
good  taste  that  I  should  touch  upon  the  little  mis- 
understandings between  myself  and  Miss  Keene; 
but  as  these  quarrels  were  not  of  a  domestic  or 
private  nature,  and  as  the  public  were  made  fully 
aware  of  them  at  the  time,  there  is  nothing  sacred 
about  them,  and  they  may  serve  as  lessons  in  the 
future  to  younger  and  as  yet  inexperienced  actors. 
And  then,  too,  Miss  Keene  and  I  were  friends  in 
after  years ;  we  had  long  since  shaken  hands  and 
buried  the  hatchet  —  had  talked  and  laughed  over 
our  rows  and  reconciliations,  and  had  continued  to 
get  as  much  amusement  out  of  the  recollections  as 
we  had  created  trouble  out  of  the  realities. 

When  I  returned  from  Australia  we  met  again. 
She  had  lost  her  theater,  and  was  traveling  and 
starring  with  only  partial  success.  Her  early 
popularity  had  waned,  but  she  battled  against 
adversity  with  great  courage.  At  last  her  health 
gave  way,  and  she  retired,  but  still  with  the  cling- 
ing hope  of  returning  to  the  stage  again.  She 
never  did.  The  last  letter  she  wrote  was  penned 
upon  her  death-bed,  and  was  addressed  to  me. 
She  sent  me  an  ivory  miniature  of  Madame  Ves- 
tris,  and  a  water-color  drawing,  by  Hardy,  of 


206  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

Edmund  Kean  as  Richard  III.  Her  letter  was 
cheerful  and  full  of  hope ;  she  spoke  of  feeling 
better,  and  seemed  confident  that  in  a  few  months 
she  would  be  in  harness  again.  She  died  the  day 
after  this  was  written. 

She  was  esteemed  a  great  beauty  in  her  youth ; 
and  even  afterwards  her  rich  and  luxuriant  auburn 
hair,  clear  complexion,  and  deep  chestnut  eyes, 
full  of  expression,  were  greatly  praised  ;  but  to  me 
it  was  her  style  and  carriage  that  commanded  ad- 
miration, and  it  was  this  quality  that  won  her  audi- 
ence. She  had,  too,  the  rare  power  of  varying  her 
manner,  assuming  the  rustic  walk  of  a  milkmaid  or 
the  dignified  grace  of  a  queen.  In  the  drama  of 
"  The  Sea  of  Ice  "  she  displayed  this  versatile  qual- 
ity to  its  fullest  extent.  In  the  prologue  she  played 
the  mother,  in  which  her  quiet  and  refined  bearing 
told  of  a  sad  life ;  in  the  next  act,  the  daughter, 
a  girl  who  had  been  brought  up  by  savages,  and 
who  came  bounding  upon  the  stage  with  the  wild 
grace  of  a  startled  doe.  In  the  last  act  she  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  sent  to  Paris  and  there  edu- 
cated. In  this  phase  of  the  character  she  exhibited 
the  wonderful  art  of  showing  the  fire  of  the  wild 
Indian  girl  through  the  culture  of  the  French  lady. 
I  have  never  seen  this  transparency  more  perfectly 
acted. 

Laura  Keene  was  in  private  life  high  tempered 
and  imperious,  but  she  had  a  good  heart  and  was 
very  charitable.  I  never  heard  her  speak  ill  of  any 
one  but  herself;  and  this  she  would  sometimes  do 
with  a  grim  humor  that  was  very  entertaining. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


AT  THE  WINTER  GARDEN  1   AND   "  RIP  VAN  WINKLE" 


The  Winter  Garden — "Caleb  Plummer" — I  Re- 
ceive  Good  Advice  —  "The  Octoroon" — Some 
Remarks  on  Guying  —  The  Comedians  Disad- 
vantage —  The  First  Successful  Star  Come- 
dian —  How  I  Came  to  Play  "Rip  Van  Winkle  " 
—  Failure  in  San  Francisco  —  Harry  Perry 

MY  starring  venture  was  attended  with  what 
is  termed  qualified  success  ;  not  with  what 
could  be  called  positive  failure ;  still  I  felt 
that  the  time  had  not  yet  arrived  for  the  continu- 
ance of  such  a  rash  experiment.  Just  at  this 
juncture  William  Stuart  made  me  an  offer  of  an 
engagement  at  his  new  theater,  the  Winter 
Garden,  which  place  was  to  be  under  the  direction 
of  Dion  Boucicault.  I  accepted  the  offer,  at  a  much 
larger  salary  than  I  had  ever  received,  and  was 
enrolled  as  a  member  of  the  company.  The  title 
of  "  Winter  Garden "  had  been  adopted  from  a 
place  of  amusement  in  Paris,  where  plays  were 
acted  in  a  kind  of  conservatory  filled  with  tropical 
plants.  If  I  remember  rightly,  the  treasury  of  the 


207 


208  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

management  was  not  in  what  could  be  called  an 
overflowing  condition;  and  although  the  actors 
whom  they  engaged  were  quite  strong,  the  horti- 
cultural display  was  comparatively  weak.  Some 
sharp-pointed  tropical  plants  of  an  inhospitable  and 
sticky  character  exuded  their  "  medicinal  gums  " 
in  the  vestibule,  and  the  dress  circle  was  festooned 
with  artificial  flowers  so  rare  that  they  must  have 
been  unknown  to  the  science  of  botany.  To  give 
these  delicate  exotics  a  sweet  and  natural  odor 
they  were  plentifully  sprinkled  with  some  perfume 
resembling  closely  the  sweet  scent  of  hair-oil,  so 
that  the  audience  as  they  were  entering  could 
"  nose  "  them  in  the  lobby.  Take  it  altogether, 
the  theater  was  a  failure ;  for,  added  to  the  meager 
decorations,  the  acoustics  were  inferior,  and  the 
views  of  the  stage  from  the  auditorium  unpardon- 
ably  bad.  To  make  amends,  however,  for  these 
shortcomings,  Mr.  Boucicault  had  secured  a  strong 
company ;  not  so  far  as  great  names  were  con- 
cerned, but  they  had  been  carefully  selected  with 
regard  to  the  plays  that  were  to  be  produced. 
The  opening  piece  was  an  adaptation  of  Dickens's 
"  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,"  and  called  "  Dot."  It 
was  a  hit.  The  cast  was  as  follows : 

John  Peerybingle MR.  HARRY  PEARSON. 

Caleb  Plummer MR.  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON. 

The  Stranger MR.  A.  H.  DAVENPORT. 

Tackleton MR.  T.  B.  JOHNSON. 

Dot Miss  AGNES  ROBERTSON. 

May  Fielding MRS.  J.  H.  ALLEN. 

Bertha Miss  SARA  STEVENS. 

Tillie  Stowboy MRS.  JOHN  WOOD. 

Mrs.  Fielding MRS.  BLAKE. 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON     AS     "  CALEB     PLUMMEK." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  209 

The  four  ladies  first  named  were  the  pictures  of 
female  grace  and  beauty.  This  season  I  acted 
Newman  Noggs,  Caleb  Plummer,  Salem  Scudder, 
and  several  other  characters  ;  but  the  latter  were 
not  very  important. 

Previous  to  the  commencement  of  the  season, 
Mr.  Boucicault  and  I  had  some  conversation  in 
relation  to  the  opening  bill.  I  told  him  I  was 
rather  apprehensive  of  my  hitting  the  part  of 
Caleb  Plummer,  as  I  had  never  acted  a  character 
requiring  pathos,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the 
love  scene  in  "  Our  American  Cousin,"  as  yet  had 
not  spoken  a  serious  line  upon  the  stage.  He 
seemed  to  have  more  confidence  in  my  powers  than 
I  had,  and  insisted  that  I  could  act  the  part  with 
success.  I  agreed  therefore  to  open  in  Caleb,  with 
the  understanding  that  I  should  finish  the  perform- 
ance with  a  farce,  so  in  the  event  of  my  failing  in 
the  first  piece,  I  might  save  my  reputation  in  the 
last.  He  assented  to  the  arrangement,  but  warned 
me,  however,  that  I  would  regret  it;  and  he  was 
right,  for  when  the  curtain  fell  upon  "  Dot,"  I 
should  have  much  preferred  not  to  have  acted  in 
the  farce.  So  the  little  piece  was  taken  off  after 
the  first  night,  as  I  was  quite  satisfied  with  Caleb 
alone. 

An  incident  occurred  during  the  first  rehearsal 
of  "Dot"  that  may  be  worth  relating,  as  it  bears 
upon  a  theory  in  acting  that  I  have  established  for 
myself  ever  since  it  took  place.  Mr.  Boucicault,  I 
think,  understood  me,  and  felt  from  what  I  had 
said  to  him  on  previous  occasions  that  I  was  not 


210  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

averse  to  suggestions  in  the  dramatic  art,  and  was 
in  the  habit  of  listening  to  advice,  though  I  always 
reserved  to  myself  the  right  of  acting  on  my  own 
judgment  as  to  whether  the  proffered  counsel  was 
good  or  bad.  During  my  rehearsal  of  the  first 
scene,  which  I  went  through  just  as  I  intended 
acting  it  at  night,  I  saw  by  his  manner  that  he 
was  disappointed  with  my  rendering  of  the  part, 
and  I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  He  replied, 
"  If  that  is  the  way  you  intend  to  act  the  part  I  do 
not  wonder  you  were  afraid  to  undertake  it."  This 
was  a  crushing  blow  to  a  young  man  from  one 
older  in  years  and  experience ;  but  feeling  that 
there  was  something  to  learn,  I  asked  him  to 
explain  what  he  meant.  "Why,  you  have  acted 
your  last  scene  first ;  if  you  begin  in  that  solemn 
strain  you  have  nothing  left  for  the  end  of  the 
play."  This  was  his  remark,  or  words  to  the  same 
effect ;  and  I  am  certainly  indebted  to  him,  through 
this  advice,  for  whatever  success  I  achieved  in  the 
part. 

I  am  not  sure  whether  Mr.  Boucicault  was  aware 
of  what  a  large  field  for  dramatic  thought  he  opened 
up,  and  if  I  did  not  clearly  understand  the  impor- 
tance of  it  then,  I  have  found  it  out  since,  and  so 
far  as  I  have  been  able  applied  it  as  a  general 
rule.  These  reflections  taught  me  never  to  anti- 
cipate a  strong  effect;  in  fact,  to  lead  your  audi- 
ence by  your  manner,  so  that  they  shall  scarcely 
suspect  the  character  capable  of  such  emotion ; 
then,  when  some  sudden  blow  has  fallen,  the  terri- 
ble shock  prepares  the  audience  for  a  new  and 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  211 

striking  phase  in  the  character:  they  feel  that 
under  these  new  conditions  you  would  naturally 
exhibit  the  passion  which  till  then  was  not  sus- 
pected. 

Rising  young  actors  usually  guard  their  posi- 
tions with  a  jealous  eye,  and,  as  I  was  no  exception 
to  this  rule,  it  had  been  clearly  understood  between 
me  and  the  management  that  my  name  should 
be  as  prominently  set  before  the  public  as  that  of 
any  other  member  of  the  company.  This  agreement 
was  not  carried  out;  for,  on  the  announcement  in 
the  papers  of  the  play  of  "The  Octoroon,"  my 
name  did  not  appear.  I  was  to  act  one  of  the 
principal  parts  in  the  drama.  I  felt  that  I  was 
something  of  a  favorite  with  the  public,  and  natu- 
rally became  irate  at  this  indignity ;  so  I  sent  my 
part,  Salem  Scudder,  to  the  theater,  with  a  note 
to  Mr.  Stuart,  saying  that  I  considered  my  engage- 
ment canceled  by  my  name  being  publicly  ignored 
in  the  announcement  of  the  play,  and  I  concluded 
my  resignation  by  saying  that,  as  I  had  no  wish  to 
distress  the  management,  if  Mr.  Stuart  or  Mr. 
Boucicault  would  call  on  me  I  would  be  pleased 
to  enter  into  a  new  engagement  with  them  when 
my  claims  should  be  written  out  to  prevent  any 
further  misunderstanding ;  otherwise  I  must  de- 
cline to  act  again  in  the  theater.  As  the  play  was 
ready  and  to  be  acted  on  the  following  Monday 
night,  this  being  Saturday,  I  felt  pretty  sure  that 
my  note  of  resignation  would  act  as  a  bombshell 
and  explode  with  considerable  force  in  the  mana- 
gerial office.  And  it  did. 


212  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

But  I  must  now  digress  in  order  to  show  the 
sequel  of  the  story.  I  had  been  for  some  time 
suffering  with  an  attack  of  dyspepsia, —  not  a 
happy  condition  for  an  actor  who  is  quarreling 
with  the  manager, —  and  conceived  the  idea  that 
gentle  exercise  in  the  way  of  boxing  would  relieve 
me.  So  I  engaged  a  professor,  in  the  shape  of  an 
old  retired  "  champion  of  light-weights,"  to  give  me 
lessons  in  the  manly  art  of  self-defense  for  the  sum 
of  two  dollars  per  lesson,  in  consideration  of  which 
he  was  to  allow  me  to  pommel  him  over  the  head 
with  soft  gloves  ad  libitum.  In  our  contract  it  was 
understood  that  I  was  the  party  of  the  first  part, 
and  the  party  of  the  second  part  agreed,  never, 
under  any  consideration,  to  counter  on  the  party 
of  the  first  part.  These  lessons  had  been  going 
on  in  my  drawing-room  —  my  teacher  coming  to 
the  house  —  for  several  weeks,  and  I  fancied  that 
I  was  improving ;  certainly  I  was,  so  far  as  hitting- 
out  went,  for,  as  I  observed  before,  according  to  the 
contract  I  had  it  all  my  own  way. 

On  the  occasion  I  am  now  about  to  describe  I 
had  been  perhaps  taking  unwarranted  liberties 
with  the  "champion,"  who  must  have  got  a  little 
excited,  for  before  I  knew  where  I  was  I  found 
myself  stretched  full  length  under  the  piano.  I 
expostulated  with  him,  informing  him  solemnly 
that  this  was  the  second  breach  of  contract  I  had 
suffered  from  him  during  the  last  two  days,  and 
begged  him  in  the  future  to  subdue  the  old  war- 
horse  within  him.  In  fact,  I  said  that  I  would 
prefer  to  pay  a  little  extra  if  he  would  conform  to 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON     AS     "NEWMAN    NOGGS." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  213 

the  contract  more  rigidly.  We  shook  hands  and 
began  work  again.  My  feelings  were  hurt,  to  say 
the  least  of  it,  and  I  was  determined  to  get  even 
with  him.  I  now  began  to  dance  around  my  ad- 
versary in  the  conventional  style,  and  had  just 
given  him  "  one  for  his  nob,"  when  looking  over 
his  shoulders  I  discovered  the  amazed  faces  of  Dion 
Boucicault  and  William  Stuart.  Against  the  dark 
background  of  the  room  the  two  heads  of  these 
gentlemen  loomed  up  like  another  pair  of  boxing- 
gloves.  They  stood  aghast  at  the  scene,  and  I 
fancy  it  must  naturally  have  entered  their  minds 
that  I  had  invited  them  up  to  settle  our  difficulties 
by  an  appeal  to  science,  and  had  secured  the  ser- 
vices of  a  professional  bruiser  to  assist  me.  But  the 
record  of  these  gentlemen,  like  my  own,  proves 
that  we  are,  pugilistically  speaking,  men  of  peace ; 
so  if  they  had  any  doubt,  their  alarm  was  soon  set  at 
rest  by  my  dismissing  the  light-weight  and  politely 
begging  them  to  be  seated. 

We  soon  came  to  a  more  explicit  understanding, 
and  the  matter  was  settled  without  any  reference  to 
the  "  Marquis  of  Queensberry."  The  truth  of  the 
matter  is  that  they  were  very  anxious  for  me  to 
act  the  part,  and  I  was  equally  anxious  to  play  it. 
With  these  feelings  underlying  the  difficulty,  there 
was  no  occasion  for  arbitration.  The  quarrels 
between  manager  and  actor  are  never  very  serious. 
As  with  loving  couples,  the  slightest  advance  on 
either  side  soon  brings  about  a  reconciliation. 

The  history  of  "  The  Octoroon  "  is  well  known. 
It  dealt  with  the  one  absorbing  subject  of  slavery, 


214  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  was  produced  at  a  dangerous  time.  The 
slightest  allusion  to  this  now-banished  institution 
only  served  to  inflame  the  country,  which  was 
already  at  a  white  heat.  A  drama  told  so  well  had 
a  great  effect  on  the  audience,  for  there  was  at  this 
time  a  divided  feeling  in  New  York  with  regard  to 
the  coming  struggle.  Some  were  in  favor  of  war, 
others  thought  it  best  to  delay,  and,  if  possible, 
avert  it ;  and  it  was  deemed  unwise,  if  not  culpable, 
by  many  for  us  to  act  "  The  Octoroon  "  at  such 
a  time.  Then  there  were  various  opinions  as 
to  which  way  the  play  leaned  —  whether  it  was 
Northern  or  Southern  in  its  sympathy.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  is,  it  was  non-committal.  The  dia- 
logue and  characters  of  the  play  made  one  feel 
for  the  South,  but  the  action  proclaimed  against 
slavery,  and  called  loudly  for  its  abolition.  When 
the  old  negro,  just  before  the  slave  sale,  calls  his 
colored  "  bredrin  "  around  him  and  tells  them  they 
must  look  their  best  so  as  to  bring  a  good  price  for 
the  "  missis,"  and  then  falling  on  his  knees  asks 
a  blessing  on  the  family  who  had  been  so  kind  to 
them,  the  language  drew  further  sympathy  for  the 
loving  hearts  of  the  South ;  but  when  they  felt  by 
the  action  of  the  play  that  the  old  darky  who  had 
made  them  weep  was  a  slave,  they  became  aboli- 
tionists to  a  man. 

When  Zoe,  the  loving  octoroon,  is  offered  to  the 
highest  bidder,  and  a  warm-hearted  Southern  girl 
offers  all  her  fortune  to  buy  Zoe  and  release  her 
from  the  threatened  bondage  awaiting  her,  the 
audience  cheered  for  the  South ;  but  when  again 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  215 

the  action  revealed  that  she  could  be  bartered  for, 
and  was  bought  and  sold,  they  cheered  for  the 
North  as  plainly  as  though  they  had  said,  "  Down 
with  slavery."  This  reveals  at  once  how  the  power 
of  dramatic  action  overwhelms  the  comparative 
impotency  of  the  dialogue. 

Among  the  well-remembered  characters  of  my 
dramatic  life  was  an  actor  named  Salisbury.  The 
only  influence  that  he  exerted  upon  the  stage  dur- 
ing his  career  was,  I  regret  to  say,  anything  but  a 
good  one.  "  Guying  "  was  formerly  a  slang  term, 
but  it  has  of  late  years  become  a  technical  one  for 
trifling  with  a  part  upon  the  stage.  The  art  of 
guying  was  Mr.  Salisbury's  forte,  and  it  was  the 
only  thing  that  he  did  well.  Life  was  one  huge 
joke  to  him  :  he  treated  nothing  seriously.  He  was 
the  delight  of  actors  and  the  bane  of  managers. 
It  is  related  of  him  that  he  once  sent  a  telegram  to 
Mr.  Rice  of  the  Chicago  Theater  applying  for  an 
engagement.  The  manager  sent  back  this  answer  : 
"  I  would  not  engage  you  if  you  would  come  for 
nothing "  ;  to  which  Salisbury  replied :  "  Terms 
accepted.  Will  be  with  you  to-morrow." 

This  man's  memory  was  so  wonderful  that  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  ask  him  a  question  with- 
out getting  a  Shaksperean  quotation  in  reply. 
If  he  was  imperfect  in  his  part,  which  was  gener- 
ally the  case  with  him,  he  would  interpolate 
speeches  from  other  characters,  talking  the  most 
absurd  nonsense,  and  turning  a  serious  scene  into 
ridicule.  Sometimes  the  audience,  detecting  this 
impertinence,  would  hiss.  This  rebuke  was  the 


216  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

only  thing  that  would  check  him,  for  any  slight 
put  upon  himself  was  keenly  felt;  but  the  next 
night  the  chastisement  would  be  forgotten,  and  he 
would  repeat  his  indiscretion.  It  was  said  of  him 
that  he  was  generous  to  a  fault;  and  I  think  he 
must  have  been,  for  he  never  paid  his  washerwoman. 
One  morning  the  poor  old  laundress  was  dunning 
him  for  her  hard  earnings.  He  was  standing  at 
the  stage  door,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  admirers, 
and  turning  furiously  upon  the  old  woman,  he  para- 
phrased Macbeth 's  speech  to  the  ghost  of  Banquo  in 
the  following  words :  "  Avaunt,  and  quit  my  sight ! 
Thy  tubs  are  marrowless ;  there  is  no  starch  in 
my  fine  shirts  that  thou  didst  glare  withal !  Ap- 
proach thou  like  the  Russian  manager,  the  Hyrcan 
critic,  or  the  '  Old  Rye  whisky-us ' ;  or,  be  alive 
again,  and  make  it  salary  day.  If,  trembling  then, 
I  do  inhibit  thee,  confess  me  but  a  babe  of  a  Salis- 
bury." The  laundress  fled  in  despair,  only  too  glad 
to  escape  unpaid  from  the  supposed  lunatic. 

Innocent  mirth  is  most  desirable,  but  not  mirth 
expended  at  the  cost  of  another's  feelings ;  and 
Salisbury's  unfortunate  career,  terminating  as  it 
did  in  sickness  and  poverty,  is  an  example  of  a 
handsome  man,  possessed  of  fair  ability,  who,  by 
utter  disregard  of  loyalty  to  his  manager  and  of 
respect  for  the  public,  gradually  lost  the  confidence 
of  all  who  knew  him,  and  became  a  neglected 
wreck.  The  practice  of  guying  is  unpardonable, 
and  the  indulgence  in  it  unworthy  of  an  artist  or  a 
gentleman.  The  leisure  hours  passed  in  the  dress- 
ing-room or  the  greenroom  afford  ample  time  for  an 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON     AS    "  SALEM     SCUDDER. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  217 

actor's  amusement  without  inflicting  the  exuberance 
of  his  personal  humor  upon  the  audience.  The  re- 
hearsals and  subsequent  performances  of  a  play  are 
not  his  property,  and  he  has  no  right  to  mutilate 
them.  Managers  and  leading  actors  are  altogether 
too  lax  in  their  rebuke  of  this  senseless  and  ruin- 
ous practice.  They  should  neither  commit  the  out- 
rage themselves  nor  permit  it  in  others.  "  Where 
example  leads  the  way  "  the  multitude  will  follow, 
and  no  leader  can  rightly  claim  the  respect  of  his 
company  unless  he  shows  it  to  them  and  the  public. 
I  have  a  suspicion  that  guying  begins  where  ability 
leaves  off,  and  that  many  actors  exhibit  this  trifling 
to  conceal  their  own  shortcomings. 

I  believe  it  is  the  ostrich  which  runs  his  head  into 
the  sand,  thinking  that  if  he  does  n't  see  his  pur- 
suer his  pursuer  can't  see  him.  I  wish,  for  the 
sake  of  simile,  that  it  were  the  goose.  Actors  are 
often  under  the  erroneous  impression  that  their 
auditors  do  not  observe  these  little  bits  of  trifling. 
They  not  only  observe  them,  but  they  resent  them 
in  a  quiet  and  dangerous  way  —  they  do  not  come 
again.  Having  paid  their  money,  and  perhaps 
foregone  the  pleasure  they  could  have  enjoyed 
somewhere  else,  it  suddenly  comes  upon  them  that 
they  have  been  taken  in,  and  are  sitting  in  front 
of  the  theater  only  to  witness  the  enjoyment  of 
the  actors,  who  are  reveling  in  some  private 
joke  and  refuse  to  let  them  into  the  secret;  and 
as  they  walk  home,  pondering  on  their  experience, 
they  determine  within  themselves  never  to  risk  a 
repetition  of  the  occurrence. 


218  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

An  actor,  perhaps  a  good  one,  too,  comes  gaily 
on -the  stage.  The  audience  like  him  and  give  him 
a  hearty  welcome ;  an  evening's  enjoyment  has 
been  promised,  and  they  are  in  high  expectation 
of  the  compact  being  fulfilled.  Ah  !  who  are  those 
young  fellows  in  the  private  box  ?  Quite  a  jolly 
party,  I  declare.  They  know  the  comedian,  too ; 
see,  he  recognizes  them.  Now  the  comedian  — 
just  for  fun,  you  know ;  he  does  n't  mean  any 
harm  by  it  —  introduces  some  joke  :  foreign  to 
the  play,  to  be  sure ;  but  then  the  private  box 
recognize  it  at  once  as  some  allusion  to  their  last 
merrymaking.  How  they  do  enjoy  it!  Now  a 
friendly  wink,  they  laugh  again ;  it  's  delightful. 
But  how  about  the  audience  all  this  time  ?  What 
are  they  doing  while  all  this  sport  is  going  on  ? 
I  will  tell  you.  They  are  not  hissing,  to  be 
sure, —  well-bred  American  audiences  seldom  for- 
get themselves  so  far,  for  /they  feel  this  breach 
of  decorum  would  interfere  with  the  enjoyment  of 
others, —  but  they  are  determining  within  their 
minds  that  they  are  insulted,  and  that  they  will 
never  come  again  to  see  that  actor.  He  has  taken 
a  liberty  with  them  that  they  will  neither  forget 
nor  forgive. 

I  will  not  say  that  in  my  youth  I  never  indulged 
in  what  I  am  now  condemning.  I  did  so,  but  I 
never  obtained  the  position  I  coveted  until  I  aban- 
doned the  pernicious  habit.  There  is  no  other 
profession  in  which  honest  and  serious  attention 
to  the  matter  in  hand  is  so  promptly  rewarded 
as  ours. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  219 

Suppose,  for  an  example  of  the  harm  that  might 
be  done,  we  take  a  case  like  this :  An  actor  has 
worked  for  weeks  patiently  to  study  or  perhaps 
create  a  character,  and  his  success  in  it  may  prove 
the  turning-point  of  his  life.  He  is  poor,  and  has 
a  large  family  to  support.  If  he  but  hit  the  part, 
his  fortune  is  made,  and  he  will  not  only  serve  the 
manager,  the  author,  and  the  public,  but  be  ena- 
bled to  provide  comforts  for  his  home  and  an 
education  for  his  children.  Now,  with  all  this  at 
stake,  some  wanton  actor  deliberately  "guys"  his 
part  and  overturns  the  patient  care  of  his  comrade, 
undermining  the  foundation  and  causing  the  whole 
structure  to  fall  to  the  ground.  See  what  a  wreck 
we  have  here!  Think  of  a  poor  artist  before  a 
picture  upon  which  he  has  spent  days  of  toil  and 
nights  of  thought.  It  is  just  ready  for  the  Acad- 
emy, and  now  some  comrade  steals  up  behind  the 
easel  and  pours  a  pot  of  paint  over  the  canvas, 
ruining  the  work.  What  shall  be  said  of  him  ? 
And  yet  he  may  have  done  no  more  harm  than 
the  actor  who  has  ruined  the  bright  prospects  of 
his  brother  actor. 

I  do  not  say  that  guying  is  always  the  result  of 
cruel  mischief.  A  man  may  be  really  good-hearted 
and  yet  do  all  this  damage ;  but  whether  it  be  from 
design  or  thoughtlessness,  the  result  is  the  same, 
and  the  habit  should  be  frowned  down  and  checked 
by  every  honest  actor.  In  making  these  asser- 
tions I  do  not  put  them  forth  as  an  argument. 
This  subject  does  not  admit  of  argument,  for  noth- 
ing can  be  said  in  defense.  There  is  no  other  side 


220  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

to  the  question.  But  the  actor  who  guys  is  as  much 
to  be  pitied  as  condemned,  for  the  crime  carries 
the  punishment  along  with  it. 

The  repertory  that  naturally  falls  to  a  tragic 
actor  gives  him  an  immeasurable  advantage  over  a 
comedian.  Nearly  all  of  the  tragedies  or  serious 
plays,  both  of  ancient  and  modern  structure,  have 
for  their  heroes  one  conspicuous  and  central  figure, 
who  is  in  a  marked  degree  superior  to  the  sur- 
rounding characters  that  support  him,  whereas  the 
comedies,  with  but  few  exceptions,  have  been  con- 
structed with  the  view  of  displaying  a  group  of 
actors. 

If  the  starring  system,  as  it  is  called,  be  an  evil, 
then  Shakspere  is  undoubtedly  responsible  for  its 
existence,  as  his  tragedies  almost  without  exception 
contain  one  great  character  on  whom  the  interest 
of  the  play  turns,  and  upon  whom  the  attention  of 
the  audience  is  centered.  When  he  introduces  two 
figures  for  this  purpose,  as  shown  in  the  attitudes 
of  Othello  and  lago,  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth, 
they  are  so  closely  knit  together  that  the  double 
light  shines  only  with  a  single  ray.  In  the  play  of 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  it  is  supposed  that  Mercutio 
was  killed  early  in  the  drama  lest  his  brilliancy 
should  dim  the  luster  of  the  lovers.  There  are 
undoubtedly  other  splendid  characters  in  the 
tragedies  of  Shakspere,  but  when  brought  in  con- 
trast with  the  magnitude  of  his  heroes  they  are 
comparatively  subordinate.  In  his  comedies  the 
characters  are  formed  in  groups,  and  are  generally 
so  arranged  that  they  may  be  in  some  measure  of 


TYRONE     POWER    AS     "CORPORAL    o'CQNOR." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  221 

equal  value.  Falstaff  would  seem  to  be  an  excep- 
tion, yet  even  here  the  historical  drama  of  "  Henry 
IV.,"  in  which  the  fat  knight  figures  so  conspicu- 
ously, is  a  play,  not  a  comedy.  Under  these  con- 
ditions the  comedians  of  the  olden  time,  though 
great  favorites  with  the  public,  and  in  many  in- 
stances superb  actors,  as  individual  attractions 
never  drew  large  audiences.  Possibly  Sam  Foote, 
who  acted  during  Garrick's  time,  and  later  the 
elder  Mathews,  were  notable  exceptions ;  but  even 
these  actors,  the  legitimate  comedians,  were  forced 
to  abandon  the  old  comedies  and  arrange  special 
entertainments  of  their  own,  in  which  they  gave 
imitations  of  popular  and  easily  recognized  public 
characters. 

The  first  to  command  universal  attention  as  a 
single  magnet  was  Tyrone  Power.  Possibly  he 
was  no  greater  than  the  comedians  that  preceded 
him,  but  Irish  comedy  up  to  the  time  of  his  advent 
had  been  confined  to  characters  that  were  less  im- 
portant. Fortunately  for  Power,  a  number  of 
rollicking  and  effective  plays  were  written  for  him, 
through  which  his  own  unique  power  shone  with 
special  brilliancy.  Besides  this,  he  was  not  a 
mushroom.  His  professional  growth  had  been 
gradual  and  healthy.  As  the  leading  juvenile 
actor  and  light  comedian  of  the  Theater  Royal, 
Dublin,  he  had  been  for  four  years  the  prime 
favorite  of  the  city,  and  afterwards,  as  a  leader 
in  legitimate  plays  at  the  Haymarket  Theater,  in 
London,  he  held  a  no  less  important  position. 
This  career  was  a  firm  foundation  upon  which  to 


222  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

build  his  lighter,  but  to  the  public  more  valued, 
work ;  so  that  his  long  theatrical  experience,  added 
to  his  new  and  effective  repertory,  ranked  him  as 
the  greatest  and  most  successful  Irish  comedian  of 
his  time.  I  am  not  aware  what  effect  Power's  suc- 
cess as  a  star  had  upon  the  English  stage, —  it  is 
more  conservative  than  our  own, —  but  his  achieve- 
ments here  stirred  up  a  new  ambition  among  the 
comedians  of  America,  and  with  national  energy 
they  immediately  set  to  work  developing  their 
especial  gifts ;  and  these  in  many  instances  quali- 
fied them  for  becoming  distinct  features.  Casting 
aside  the  old  comedies,  they  came  forward  with 
novel  and  effective,  if  not  legitimate  plays.  Dra- 
matic portraits  of  Dutchmen,  Yankees,  French- 
men, together  with  the  Western  and  local  char- 
acters of  our  own  country,  were  speedily  and 
vigorously  exhibited,  many  of  them  commanding 
immediate  attention.  Among  the  most  success- 
ful comedians  may  be  mentioned  Hackett,  Hill, 
Marble,  Burke,  Chanfrau,  Williams,  and,  later  on, 
Owens,  Sothern,  Florence,  Raymond,  and  a  host 
of  others. 

For  myself,  like  some  of  those  already  mentioned, 
I  had  always  been,  more  or  less,  a  legitimate  actor, 
and  the  hope  of  entering  the  race  for  dramatic  fame 
as  an  individual  and  single  attraction  never  came 
into  my  head  until,  in  1858,  I  acted  Asa  Tren- 
chard  in  "  Our  American  Cousin " ;  but  as  the 
curtain  descended  the  first  night  on  that  remark- 
ably successful  play,  visions  of  large  type,  foreign 
countries,  and  increased  remuneration  floated  be- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  223 

fore  me,  and  I  resolved  to  be  a  star  if  I  could.  A 
resolution  to  this  effect  is  easily  made ;  its  accom- 
plishment is  quite  another  matter. 

Art  has  always  been  my  sweetheart,  and  I  have 
loved  her  for  herself  alone.  I  had  fancied  that  our 
affection  was  mutual,  so  that  when  I  failed  as  a 
star,  which  I  certainly  did,  I  thought  she  had 
jilted  me.  Not  so.  I  wronged  her.  She  only 
reminded  me  that  I  had  taken  too  great  a  liberty, 
and  that  if  I  expected  to  win  her  I  must  press 
my  suit  with  more  patience.  Checked,  but  un- 
daunted in  the  resolve,  my  mind  dwelt  upon  my 
vision,  and  I  still  indulged  in  day-dreams  of  the 
future. 

During  these  delightful  reveries  it  came  up 
before  me  that  in  acting  Asa  Trenchard  I  had, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  on  the  stage,  spoken 
a  pathetic  speech ;  and  though  I  did  not  look  at 
the  audience  during  the  time  I  was  acting, —  for 
that  is  dreadful, —  I  felt  that  they  both  laughed 
and  cried.  I  had  before  this  often  made  my  audi- 
ence smile,  but  never  until  now  had  I  moved  them 
to  tears.  This  to  me  novel  accomplishment  was 
delightful,  and  in  casting  about  for  a  new  char- 
acter my  mind  was  ever  dwelling  on  reproducing 
an  effect  where  humor  would  be  so  closely  allied 
to  pathos  that  smiles  and  tears  should  mingle  with 
each  other.  Where  could  I  get  one?  There  had 
been  many  written,  and  as  I  looked  back  into  the 
dramatic  history  of  the  past  a  long  line  of  lovely 
ghosts  loomed  up  before  me,  passing  as  in  a  pro- 
cession :  Job  Thornberry,  Bob  Tyke,  Frank  Oat- 


224  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

land,  Zekiel  Homespun,  and  a  host  of  departed 
heroes  "with  martial  stalk  went  by  my  watch." 
Charming  fellows  all,  but  not  for  me.  I  felt  I 
could  not  do  them  justice.  Besides,  they  were 
too  human.  I  was  looking  for  a  myth  —  some- 
thing intangible  and  impossible.  But  he  would 
not  come.  Time  went  on,  and  still  with  no 
result. 

During  the  summer  of  1859  I  arranged  to  board 
with  my  family  at  a  queer  old  Dutch  farm-house 
in  Paradise  Valley,  at  the  foot  of  Pocono  Moun- 
tain, in  Pennsylvania.  A  ridge  of  hills  covered 
with  tall  hemlocks  surrounds  the  vale,  and  numer- 
ous trout-streams  wind  through  the  meadows  and 
tumble  over  the  rocks.  Stray  farms  are  scattered 
through  the  valley,  and  the  few  old  Dutchmen  and 
their  families  who  till  the  soil  were  born  upon  it ; 
there  and  only  there  they  have  ever  lived.  The 
valley  harmonized  with  me  and  our  resources. 
The  scene  was  wild,  the  air  was  fresh,  and  the 
board  was  cheap.  What  could  the  light  heart  and 
purse  of  a  poor  actor  ask  for  more  than  this  ? 

On  one  of  those  long  rainy  days  that  always 
render  the  country  so  dull  I  had  climbed  to  the 
loft  of  the  barn,  and  lying  upon  the  hay  was  read- 
ing that  delightful  book,  "The  Life  and  Letters 
of  Washington  Irving."  I  had  gotten  well  into 
the  volume,  and  was  much  interested  in  it,  when, 
to  my  surprise,  I  came  upon  a  passage  which  said 
that  he  had  seen  me  at  Laura  Keene's  theater  as 
Goldfinch  in  Holcroft's  comedy  of  "  The  Road  to 
Ruin,"  and  that  I  reminded  him  of  my  father  "  in 


BARNEY     WILLIAMS. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  225 

look,  gesture,  size,  and  make."  Till  then  I  was  not 
aware  that  he  had  ever  seen  me.  I  was  compara- 
tively obscure,  and  to  find  myself  remembered  and 
written  of  by  such  a  man  gave  me  a  thrill  of  pleas- 
ure I  can  never  forget.  I  put  down  the  book,  and 
lay  there  thinking  how  proud  I  was,  and  ought  to 
be,  at  the  revelation  of  this  compliment.  What  an 
incentive  to  a  youngster  like  me  to  go  on ! 

And  so  I  thought  to  myself,  "  Washington  Irving, 
the  author  of  'The  Sketch-Book,'  in  which  is  the 
quaint  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle."  Rip  Van  Winkle  ! 
There  was  to  me  magic  in  the  sound  of  the  name 
as  I  repeated  it.  Why,  was  not  this  the  very  char- 
acter I  wanted  ?  An  American  story  by  an  Ameri- 
can author  was  surely  just  the  theme  suited  to  an 
American  actor. 

In  ten  minutes  I  had  gone  to  the  house  and 
returned  to  the  barn  with  "The  Sketch-Book." 
I  had  not  read  the  story  since  I  was  a  boy.  I  was 
disappointed  with  it ;  not  as  a  story,  of  course,  but 
the  tale  was  purely  a  narrative.  The  theme  was 
interesting,  but  not  dramatic.  The  silver  Hudson 
stretches  out  before  you  as  you  read,  the  quaint 
red  roofs  and  queer  gables  of  the  old  Dutch  cot- 
tages stand  out  against  the  mist  upon  the  moun- 
tains ;  but  all  this  is  descriptive.  The  character  of 
Rip  does  not  speak  ten  lines.  What  could  be  done 
dramatically  with  so  simple  a  sketch  ?  How  could 
it  be  turned  into  an  effective  play  ? 

Three  or  four  bad  dramatizations  of  the  story 
had  already  been  acted,  but  without  marked  suc- 
cess. Yates  of  London  had  given  one  in  which 


226  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  hero  dies,  one  had  been  acted  by  my  father, 
one  by  Hackett,  and  another  by  Burke.  Some  of 
these  versions  I  had  remembered  when  I  was  a 
boy,  and  I  should  say  that  Burke's  play  and 
performance  were  the  best,  but  nothing  that  I 
remembered  gave  me  the  slightest  encourage- 
ment that  I  could  get  a  good  play  out  of  any  of 
the  existing  materials.  Still  I  was  so  bent  upon 
acting  the  part  that  I  started  for  the  city,  and  in 
less  than  a  week,  by  industriously  ransacking  the 
theatrical  wardrobe  establishments  for  old  leather 
and  mildewed  cloth,  and  by  personally  superin- 
tending the  making  of  the  wigs,  each  article  of 
my  costume  was  completed ;  and  all  this  too  be- 
fore I  had  written  a  line  of  the  play  or  studied  a 
word  of  the  part. 

This  is  working  in  an  opposite  direction  from 
all  the  conventional  methods  in  the  study  and 
elaboration  of  a  dramatic  character,  and  certainly 
not  following  the  course  I  would  advise  any  one 
to  pursue.  I  merely  mention  the  out-of-the-way, 
upside-down  manner  of  going  to  work  as  an  illus- 
tration of  the  impatience  and  enthusiasm  with 
which  I  entered  upon  the  task.  I  can  only  account 
for  my  getting  the  dress  ready  before  I  studied 
the  part  to  the  vain  desire  I  had  of  witnessing 
myself  in  the  glass,  decked  out  and  equipped  as 
the  hero  of  the  Catskills. 

I  got  together  the  three  old  printed  versions  of 
the  drama  and  the  story  itself.  The  plays  were  all 
in  two  acts.  I  thought  it  would  be  an  improve- 
ment in  the  drama  to  arrange  it  in  three,  making 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  227 

the  scene  with  the  specter  crew  an  act  by  itself. 
This  would  separate  the  poetical  from  the  domestic 
side  of  the  story.  But  by  far  the  most  important 
alteration  was  in  the  interview  with  the  spirits.  In 
the  old  versions  they  spoke  and  sang.  I  remem- 
bered that  the  effect  of  this  ghostly  dialogue  was 
dreadfully  human,  so  I  arranged  that  no  voice  but 
Rip's  should  be  heard.  This  is  the  only  act  on  the 
stage  in  which  but  one  person  speaks  while  all  the 
others  merely  gesticulate,  and  I  was  quite  sure 
that  the  silence  of  the  crew  would  give  a  lonely 
and  desolate  character  to  the  scene  and  add  to  its 
supernatural  weirdness.  By  this  means,  too,  a 
strong  contrast  with  the  single  voice  of  Rip  was 
obtained  by  the  deathlike  stillness  of  the  "  demons  " 
as  they  glided  about  the  stage  in  solemn  silence. 
It  required  some  thought  to  hit  upon  just  the  best 
questions  that  could  be  answered  by  a  nod  and 
shake  of  the  head,  and  to  arrange  that  at  times  even 
Rip  should  propound  a  query  to  himself  and  answer 
it ;  but  I  had  availed  myself  of  so  much  of  the  old 
material  that  in  a  few  days  after  I  had  begun  my 
work  it  was  finished. 

In  the  seclusion  of  the  barn  I  studied  and  re- 
hearsed the  part,  and  by  the  end  of  summer  I  was 
prepared  to  transplant  it  from  the  rustic  realms  of 
an  old  farm-house  to  a  cosmopolitan  audience  in 
the  city  of  Washington,  where  I  opened  at  Carusi's 
Hall  under  the  management  of  John  T.  Raymond. 
I  had  gone  over  the  play  so  thoroughly  that  each 
situation  was  fairly  engraved  on  my  mind.  The  re- 
hearsals were  therefore  not  tedious  to  the  actors ; 


228  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

no  one  was  delayed  that  I  might  consider  how  he 
or  she  should  be  disposed  in  the  scene.  I  had  by 
repeated  experiments  so  saturated  myself  with  the 
action  of  the  play  that  a  few  days  served  to  per- 
fect the  rehearsals.  I  acted  on  these  occasions 
with  all  the  point  and  feeling  that  I  could  muster. 
This  answered  the  double  purpose  of  giving  me 
freedom  and  of  observing  the  effect  of  what  I  was 
doing  on  the  actors.  They  seemed  to  be  watching 
me  closely,  and  I  could  tell  by  little  nods  of  ap- 
proval where  and  when  the  points  hit. 

I  became  each  day  more  and  more  interested  in 
the  work ;  there  was  in  the  subject  and  the  part 
much  scope  for  novel  and  fanciful  treatment.  If 
the  sleep  of  twenty  years  was  merely  incongruous, 
there  would  be  room  for  argument  pro  and  con  ; 
but  as  it  is  an  impossibility,  I  felt  that  the  audience 
would  accept  it  at  once,  not  because  it  was  an  im- 
possibility, but  from  a  desire  to  know  in  what  con- 
dition a  man's  mind  would  be  if  such  an  event 
could  happen.  Would  he  be  thus  changed  ?  His 
identity  being  denied  both  by  strangers,  friends, 
and  family,  would  he  at  last  almost  accept  the  ver- 
dict and  exclaim,  "Then  I  am  dead,  and  that  is  a 
fact "  ?  This  was  the  strange  and  original  attitude 
of  the  character  that  attracted  me. 

In  acting  such  a  part  what  to  do  was  simple 
enough,  but  what  not  to  do  was  the  important 
and  difficult  point  to  determine.  As  the  earlier 
scenes  of  the  play  were  of  a  natural  and  domestic 
character,  I  had  only  to  draw  upon  my  experience 
for  their  effect,  or  employ  such  conventional 
methods  as  myself  and  others  had  used  before  in 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  229 

characters  of  that  sort.  But  from  the  moment  Rip 
meets  the  spirits  of  Hendrik  Hudson  and  his  crew 
I  felt  that  all  colloquial  dialogue  and  common- 
place pantomime  should  cease.  It  is  at  this  point  in 
the  story  that  the  supernatural  element  begins,  and 
henceforth  the  character  must  be  raised  from  the 
domestic  plane  and  lifted  into  the  realms  of  the 
ideal. 

To  be  brief,  the  play  was  acted  with  a  result 
that  was  to  me  both  satisfactory  and  disappointing. 
I  was  quite  sure  that  the  character  was  what  I  had 
been  seeking,  and  I  was  equally  satisfied  that  the 
play  was  not.  The  action  had  neither  the  body 
nor  the  strength  to  carry  the  hero ;  the  spiritual 
quality  was  there,  but  the  human  interest  was 
wanting.  The  final  alterations  and  additions  were 
made  five  years  later  by  Dion  Boucicault,  and  will 
be  referred  to  in  their  place. 

At  the  death  of  my  wife,  which  occurred  in 
March,  1861,  I  broke  up  my  household  in  New 
York,  and,  leaving  three  of  my  children  at  school, 
left  home  with  my  eldest  son  for  California. 

Through  the  act  of  an  overzealous  agent,  my 
engagement  in  San  Francisco  was  an  unmistakable 
failure.  Before  my  arrival  I  had  been  "  over- 
billed,"  as  it  is  technically  termed.  If  a  circus  had 
been  coming  the  placards  could  hardly  have  been 
more  numerous.  Those  fatal  documents  known  as 
the  "  opinions  of  the  press"  had  been  so  freely  cir- 
culated that  every  one  was  aware  not  only  of  what 
I  could  do  but  what  I  had  done,  and  must  therefore 
take  for  granted  what  I  was  going  to  do.  All 
power  of  judging  for  themselves  had  been  denied 


230  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

both  to  the  public  and  the  local  press.  I  felt 
that  I  should  fail,  and  I  did  fail. 

One  of  the  first  actors  I  met  on  my  arrival  was 
Harry  Perry.  I  had  known  him  years  before,  and 
we  had  acted  together  in  our  youth.  He  was 
standing  in  front  of  the  theater  reading,  rather 
quizzically,  I  fancy,  one  of  the  many  cards  on  which 
were  printed  the  previously  mentioned,  and,  I  think, 
always  to  be  avoided,  "  opinions  of  the  press." 
After  we  had  shaken  hands,  he  looked  at  me  with 
the  same  old  twinkle  of  mischief  in  his  eye  that  I 
had  remembered  years  ago,  and  said,  pointing  to 
the  "opinions,"  "  You  must  have  improved  greatly 
since  we  last  met." 

Harry  Perry  was  one  of  the  handsomest  men  on 
the  stage,  and  a  capital  actor  too.  His  animal 
spirits  and  personal  magnetism,  however,  were  the 
raw  materials  out  of  which  his  popularity  was 
manufactured.  In  those  parts  that  belonged  to  a 
farce  light  comedian  he  was  quite  unequaled. 
Youth,  vivacity,  and  a  ringing  laugh  made  him 
altogether  one  of  the  most  captivating  fellows  in 
his  line.  His  figure  was  lithe  and  graceful,  and, 
as  was  said  of  one  of  the  old  light  comedians  years 
ago,  he  had  a  five-act  comedy  in  each  eye.  On  the 
occasion  I  speak  of  he  was  quite  intoxicated  with 
happiness,  being  in  the  height  of  a  honeymoon. 
His  bride  was  Miss  Agnes  Land, —  now  Mrs.  Agnes 
Booth, —  a  young  lady  who  had  lately  arrived  from 
Australia,  and  whose  talent  and  beauty  combined 
with  his  own  made  them  valuable  members  of  the 
theatrical  profession. 


HARRY    A.    PERRY. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  AUSTRALIA,   VAN  DIEMEN'S  LAND,   AND 
NEW  ZEALAND 

From  California  to  Australia — Sydney — Mel- 
bourne—  The  Skeleton  Dance —  The  Shepherd — 
An  Australian  Tragedy — A  Terrible  Audience 
—  The  Keans — A  Chinese  Theater 

ON  the  loth  of  September,   1861,   I  sailed 
from  San  Francisco  in  the  fine  ship  Nim- 
rod,  bound  for  Port  Phillip  and  the  harbor 
of  Sydney.     I  had  only  my  son,  my  agent,  and  my 
agent's  mother  with  me.    There  were  two  or  three 
other  passengers  besides  ourselves,  of  one  of  whom 
I  must  make  special  mention  :  he  was  a  Catholic 
priest,    a   cheerful,    pleasant   man,   named  Father 
O'Grady. 

From  California  to  Australia  is  what  the  sailors 
call  a  fair-weather  passage,  most  of  it  being  made 
through  the  trade- winds.  Our  voyage  was  a  pleas- 
ant, uneventful  trip  of  fifty-seven  days.  I  passed 
most  of  the  time  in  reading,  sketching,  and  trying  to 
divert  Father  O'Grady  from  celibacy  ;  I  told  him 
he  was  altogether  too  good  a  fellow  for  a  single 

231 


232  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

man,  and  assured  him  that  he  would  never  know 
what  true  happiness  was  till  he  got  a  wife  by  his 
side  and  had  half  a  dozen  children  on  his  knee. 
Our  theological  arguments  on  the  quarter-deck 
were  a  source  of  great  amusement  to  ourselves  and 
the  passengers.  O'Grady,  when  he  became  ex- 
cited, would  walk  up  and  down  the  deck,  tossing 
his  long  arms  wildly  about  as  if  he  were  making 
signals  of  distress. 

We  passed  to  the  south,  and  just  in  sight  of 
Norfolk  Island,  which  is  said  to  be  the  loveliest 
spot  in  the  Pacific  Ocean.  It  was  formerly  a  con- 
vict station,  but  the  prisoners  had  been  removed 
for  many  years,  and  the  place  was  then,  and  I 
believe  is  now,  occupied  by  a  colony  called  the 
Pitcairn  Islanders.  The  "  mutiny  of  the  Bounty?  it 
will  be  remembered,  occurred  during  the  latter  part 
of  the  last  century,  and  the  people  now  living  on 
Norfolk  Island  are  the  descendants  of  the  mu- 
tineers. 

On  the  4th  of  November  the  coast  of  Australia 
loomed  up  before  us.  A  great  wall  of  rocks  rises 
almost  perpendicularly  from  the  ocean,  and  the 
narrow  opening  directly  in  front  of  us  is  called 
Sydney  Heads.  When  a  ship  arrives  in  sight  of 
this  formidable  place  it  is  customary  for  the  sailors 
to  inform  the  passengers  that  this  is  the  most  dan- 
gerous spot  in  the  world.  A  thrilling  story  at  this 
point  of  the  voyage  seems  to  be  in  order,  and  one 
of  the  crew  is  generally  called  upon  to  relate  an 
awful  catastrophe  that  once  occurred  in  the  very 
sight  of  the  spot  where  the  ship  is  sailing.  We 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  233 

stood  out  well  to  sea  that  night,  as  the  weather  had 
a  threatening  aspect,  and  at  daylight,  the  wind 
being  fair,  made  again  for  the  land.  The  pilot 
sighted  us,  and  brought  the  ship  safely  over  the 
treacherous  shoals  into  the  beautiful  harbor  of 
Sydney.  Once  inside,  if  the  day  be  fine,  what 
perfect  fairyland  is  here :  the  rocks  are  of  a  beautiful 
siena  tint,  surmounted  with  rich  foliage  in  every 
shade  of  green  ;  numerous  little  crescent  bays  edged 
with  white  sand  curve  in  and  out,  meeting  the  deep 
blue  water ;  islands  crowned  with  tall  and  graceful 
trees  ;  parrots  in  the  gaudiest  coats  of  plumage  fly 
in  flocks  chattering  and  screaming  through  the  air ; 
and  the  whole  harbor  is  dotted  with  white  sails  and 
gaily  colored  streamers.  In  the  middle  distance 
is  the  beautiful  city  of  Sydney :  a  long,  low  line 
of  shipping  stretches  in  front,  and  as  the  high 
bluff  rises  behind  the  tapering  masts,  the  town,  with 
its  tall,  white  stone  buildings  and  church  spires, 
finishes  the  picture.  As  our  ship  sailed  into  this 
dreamland  of  beauty  there  was  a  rich  purple  haze 
veiling  the  scene  ;  the  sun  shone  like  gold  in  the 
far-off  horizon,  and  as  it  sank  behind  the  city  the 
purple  deepened  into  blue.  We  reached  the  town 
and  dropped  our  anchor,  the  night  came  slowly  on, 
the  new  constellations  of  stars  (not  seen  in  our  fir- 
mament) sparkled  over  our  heads,  myriads  of  lights 
in  the  city  and  the  surrounding  shipping  were 
reflected  in  the  water,  and  all  these  glittering  gems 
twinkled  and  flickered  like  fireflies  about  us. 

The  next  morning  I  rose  early,  and  rejoiced  after 
fifty-seven  days'  rolling  about  to  get  my  feet  once 


234  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

more  upon  land.  As  I  stepped  ashore  I  had  that 
curious  sensation  which  all  must  feel  when  for  the 
first  time  they  find  themselves  in  a  new  country 
where,  though  they  speak  the  same  language,  not 
a  soul  knows  or  has  ever  heard  of  them.  I  walked 
through  the  busy  streets  holding  my  son  by  the 
hand,  and  tightly  too,  for  it  was  comfort  to  feel 
that  there  was  some  one  near  who  knew  and  felt  an 
interest  in  me.  I  seemed  to  regret  that  I  had  come 
so  far  from  home,  and  wondered  whether  I  should 
ever  be  able  to  raise  any  interest  among  the  vast 
crowd  of  strangers  that  surrounded  me. 

I  met  my  agent  by  appointment  at  the  little  hotel 
where  we  stopped,  and  he  handed  me  the  money 
he  had  gone  in  quest  of.  The  first  thing  to  do  now 
was  to  purchase  new  clothes,  something  that  would 
at  least  faintly  resemble  the  costumes  of  the  people, 
which  mine  certainly  did  not  in  any  degree.  The 
hat  is  always  the  first  thing  to  change  ;  everybody 
looks  at  your  hat  as  soon  as  you  arrive  in  a  strange 
country.  These  little  matters  were  soon  amended, 
and  in  a  short  hour  I  looked  quite  like  the  people, 
but  not  a  bit  like  myself.  My  agent  had  been  a 
manager  in  Australia  some  years  before,  so  he 
knew  everybody.  We  went  to  the  theater,  where 
he  introduced  me  to  the  manager;  and  as  I  shall 
have  some  little  business  relations  with  this  gentle- 
man of  an  interesting  sort,  perhaps  it  will  be  as  well 
to  describe  him,  he  being  almost  an  historical  char- 
acter. He  was  an  under-sized,  round-shouldered 
little  cockney,  named  Rolamo.  Where  he  got  this 
remarkably  Italian  appellation  I  cannot  say,  but  if 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  235 

his  ancestors  belonged  to  the  "land  of  song"  they 
must  have  strayed  into  the  very  heart  of  White- 
chapel  just  previous  to  the  birth  of  their  son  and 
heir,  as  his  dialect  was  strongly  impregnated  with 
the  drawling  twang  of  that  locality.  It  is  recorded 
of  him  that  he  never  was  known  to  put  an  h  in  the 
right  place,  and  his  talent  for  reversing  the  w  and 
v  almost  amounted  to  genius.  He  had  originally 
been  lamplighter  in  the  theater,  but  by  his  industry 
and  intelligence  he  rose  to  be  its  manager,  and  he 
was  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame  when  I  arrived  in 
Australia.  After  my  agent  had  introduced  me  to 
Mr.  Rolamo  as  the  coming  man  who  was  to  make 
his  (the  manager's)  fortune,  that  worthy  cast  a 
patronizing  eye  over  me,  but  did  not  seem  at  all 
overwhelmed,  taking  my  arrival  with  provoking 
coolness.  This  chilling  atmosphere  pervaded  the 
office  until  my  agent  unrolled  some  highly  inflam- 
mable printed  matter,  the  novel  character  of  which 
seemed  to  attract  the  great  man's  attention,  and 
condescending  to  address  me,  he  said,  "  You  see, 
Mr.  Jeffries  —  oh,  beg  pardon  ;  Jimmison,  I  mean, 
— with  all  due  respect  to  you,  there  'as  been  so 
many  blawsted  Yankee  comics  over  'ere  that  we 
are  kind  o'  sick  on  'em.  You  may  be  a  hextra  good 
lot  for  all  I  know,  but  lately  the  queerest  mummers 
we  Ve  'ad  'ave  come  from  Amerikee.  This  printed 
stuff  you  Ve  got  looks  spicy, —  in  fact,  I  don't  know 
as  I  ever  see  spicier, —  but  it  don't  prove  nothink, 
does  it?" 

My  agent  here  broke  in  with  the  assurance  that  I 
was  a  legitimate  actor  and  not  a  mummer. 


236  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"  Legitimate  !  "  said  the  manager.  "  Well,  that 's 
the  worst  rot  of  all.  The  legitimate  would  wenti- 
late  my  theeater  on  the  first  night ;  and  as  for  that 
dismal  old  guy  'Amlet,  I  would  n't  'ave  'im  at  no 
price." 

I  told  him  that  Hamlet  was  not  upon  my  bill 
of  characters,  and  that  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned the  reputation  of  his  theater  would  be  in 
no  way  desecrated  by  any  Shaksperean  produc- 
tions.. Besides,  I  admitted  his  perfect  right  to 
protect  himself  against  fraud,  and,  as  I  was  a 
stranger,  I  proposed  first  to  show  him  what  my 
material  consisted  of,  and  wound  up  by  offering  to 
rent  his  theater  and  company,  pay  him  a  good 
bonus  to  relinquish  the  management  into  our 
hands  for  a  month,  and,  if  we  could  agree 
upon  terms,  give  him  his  money  in  advance. 
At  this  proposal  the  hard  features  of  Mr.  Rolamo 
softened  into  an  oily  sweetness  that  was  lovely  to 
behold ;  he  gently  put  out  both  hands  to  grasp 
mine,  his  eyes  fairly  beamed  on  me  with  affection, 
and  his  heart  seemed  so  touched  that  it  quite 
choked  his  utterance. 

"  My  dear  lad,"  said  he,  "  that  's  the  way  I  likes 
to  hear  a  cove  talk;  for  I  always  believes  in  a  cove 
wot  believes  in  hisself." 

Terms  were  soon  agreed  upon,  and  it  was  settled 
that  the  contract  should  be  signed  that  evening  and 
the  first  advance  paid.  In  due  time  our  printing 
was  posted  on  the  walls,  and  the  lithographs  — 
a  novel  feature  in  those  days  —  were  placed  in 
the  shop  windows.  I  passed  my  time  in  wan- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  237 

dering  about  the  streets,  observing  the  startled 
inhabitants  as  they  scanned  the  pictures,  stopping 
from  time  to  time  to  listen  to  their  remarks. 

Of  course  my  first  night  in  Sydney  was  spent  at 
the  theater,  always  an  attractive  point  to  the  actor. 
It  is  said  that  few  men  are  in  love  with  their  voca- 
tion, but  this  remark  cannot  be  applied  with  justice 
to  members  of  the  theatrical  profession;  some  actors 
will  play  without  salary  rather  than  not  act  at  all. 
On  this  occasion,  however,  it  was  more  a  matter 
of  business  than  pleasure  that  took  me  to  the  play. 
I  was  anxious  to  see  the  kind  of  acting  that  was 
most  effective  here,  and  also  to  examine  the  qual- 
ities of  the  company  in  reference  to  their  fitness 
for  the  characters  in  my  list  of  plays.  I  found 
the  acting  much  better  than  I  expected ;  in  fact, 
throughout  the  colonies  I  was  invariably  impressed 
by  this  dramatic  excellence.  The  actors  had  orig- 
inally come  from  England  to  Australia  to  star. 
Afterwards  in  many  instances  they  had  settled 
here,  making  it  their  home,  and  as  their  novelty 
wore  off  had  dropped  into  the  different  stock  com- 
panies, and  so  had  become  admirable  supporters 
to  the  stars  that  followed.  I  sat  in  front  of  the 
theater  on  the  night  referred  to,  and,  as  the  actors 
came  upon  the  stage  one  by  one,  I  plainly  saw  that 
I  had  my  work  cut  out  if  I  expected  to  stand 
prominently  forward  amidst  such  surroundings.  It 
was  also  quite  evident  that  the  delicate  sensibilities 
of  Mr.  Rolamo  had  failed  to  appreciate  the  fine 
legitimate  qualities  of  his  company,  and  had  more- 
over underrated  the  taste  of  his  patrons.  In  a  few 


238  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

days  it  was  settled  that  the  company  should  assem- 
ble in  the  greenroom,  where  I  was  to  be  formally 
introduced  previous  to  reading  my  opening  play 
to  them.  The  introduction  was  given  under  the 
"  auspices"  of  the  manager,  who  performed  the  cere- 
mony after  the  following  manner :  Ushering  me 
into  the  presence  of  the  company,  he  made  an 
awkward  bow,  forgetting  to  take  off  his  hat, — a 
tall,  black,  semi-conical-shaped  article  with  a  large 
dent  in  it, — and  announced  me  as  "Mr.  Jimminson 
from  Amerikee." 

I  found  the  company  obliging,  and,  as  I  expected, 
thoroughly  competent.  Matters  progressed  favor- 
ably, the  pieces  for  the  first  week  were  rehearsed, 
and  all  things  were  duly  prepared  for  the  opening. 
The  house  was  quite  good  on  that  night,  and  the 
audience  generous  and  sympathetic ;  they  seemed 
to  appreciate  what  a  thorough  stranger  I  was,  "  and 
as  a  stranger  gave  me  welcome." 

When  the  curtain  fell,  I  was  congratulated  by 
the  company  and  Mr.  Rolamo,  who  I  fancied  was 
a  little  annoyed  to  think  that  he  had  not  made  other 
terms  with  me,  as  his  compliments  were  couched  in 
the  following  remark :  "  I  say,  mister,  I  took  you 
for  a  green  un  when  I  first  see  you ;  you  got  a 
kind  o'  innocent  look  about  you,  but  you  're  sharp, 
do  you  know  that  ? "  I  told  him  that  I  did  not 
think  I  was  particularly  sagacious,  but  thanked  him 
for  the  delicacy  of  his  compliment,  and  hoped  that 
I  might  live  to  deserve  it. 

I  was  fortunate  in  bringing  with  me  to  Australia 
a  large  amount  of  new  material  in  the  matter  of 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  239 

plays.  "Rip  Van  Winkle,"  "Our  American 
Cousin,"  and  "The  Octoroon"  were  all  novel,  and 
their  reception  was  most  satisfactory. 

At  the  expiration  of  my  Sydney  engagement  we 
took  the  steamer  to  Melbourne.  Fawcett  Rowe 
was  the  manager  here  of  the  Princess  Theater,  and 
the  same  arrangements  were  entered  into  with  him 
that  had  been  made  at  Sydney.  Our  success  in 
Melbourne  was  even  more  flattering  than  it  had 
been  in  Sydney,  and  it  was  quite  evident  from  the 
impression  made  that  we  were  likely  to  continue 
our  season  for  some  time.  The  audiences  were 
numerous  and  fashionable,  and  the  articles  in  the 
daily  papers  referring  to  our  plays  and  acting  were 
of  the  highest  literary  character;  those  in  "The 
Argus,"  written  by  the  accomplished  critic  James 
Smith,  were  models  in  style  and  strength. 

My  engagement  at  the  Princess  extended  to  one 
hundred  and  sixty-four  consecutive  nights.  At  its 
conclusion  my  agent  and  I  dissolved  our  temporary 
partnership,  he  assuming  the  management  of  the 
new  Haymarket  Theater,  and  I  going  into  the  small 
mining  and  provincial  towns  to  reap  the  benefit  of 
the  reputation  I  had  acquired  in  the  two  larger 
cities.  Ballarat,  Bendigo,  and  Adelaide  had  all 
good  stock  companies,  and  were  visited  in  their  turn, 
generally  with  pleasant  and  profitable  results. 

During  this  provincial  tour  I  was  acting  in  one 
of  the  mining  towns  called  Castlemaine,  and  after 
tea  as  I  was  strolling  leisurely  towards  the  theater 
my  ears  were  suddenly  saluted  by  the  violent  ring- 
ing of  a  bell,  and  a  sonorous  bass  voice  roaring  out 


240  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

my  name  in  full.  I  looked  in  the  direction  of  this 
unaccountable  noise  and  saw  a  little  fat  man,  in  a 
high  white  hat  and  a  seedy  suit  of  black,  standing 
on  a  barrel  in  front  of  the  theater  and  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  of  boys.  Gesticulating  violently  with 
his  left  hand,  he  swung  in  the  right  an  enormous 
bell.  Now  suddenly  stopping,  he  seemed  to  swell 
and  got  red  in  the  face  as  he  delivered  himself  of 
the  following:  "  Oh,  yes  !  Oh,  yes  !  Oh,  yes  !  Step 
up,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ;  now  or  never  is  your 
only  chance  to  see  the  greatest  living  wonder  of 
the  age,  Joseph  Jefferson,  the  great  hactor  from 
Amerikee.  His  power  of  producing  tears  and 
smiles  at  vun  and  the  same  time  is  so  great  that 
he  caused  the  Emperor  of  Roushia  to  weep  on  his 
weddin'  night,  and  made  her  gracious  Majesty  the 
Queen  bu'st  out  laughin'  at  the  funeral  of  Prince 
Albert.  He  is  the  bosom  friend  of  the  President 
of  Amerikee  and  the  hidol  of  'is  Royal  'Ighness  the 
Prince  of  Wales." 

I  always  had  a  horror  of  orators.  They  are  sel- 
dom sincere,  and  never  hesitate  to  say  the  wrong 
thing  instead  of  the  right  one  if  they  can  say  it 
best.  To  most  of  them  epigram  is  more  sacred 
than  truth,  and  we  are  often  so  fascinated  with  the 
manner  that  we  forget  somewhat  the  matter.  It 
must  have  been  the  comical  earnestness  and  bom- 
bastic attitude  of  this  extraordinary  creature  that 
had  interested  the  crowd ;  certainly  they  did  not 
believe  what  he  was  saying,  for  they  were  roaring 
with  laughter  at  every  word,  while  his  face  was  as 
serious  as  the  fifth  act  of  a  tragedy.  At  this  June- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  241 

ture  I  rushed  into  the  theater  and  demanded  that 
the  manager  should  make  the  bellman  stop.  "  Why, 
we  always  have  it  done  here,  and  thought  you  'd 
like  it,"  replied  the  manager. 

"  Like  it !  "  said  I.  "  If  he  is  not  stopped  at  once 
I  shall  not  act."  So  the  little  fat  man  was  ordered 
to  cease  his  harangue  and  come  down  from  his 
barrel :  but  no,  he  said  he  would  n't  budge ;  he 
was  n't  half  through,  and  it  would  injure  his  business 
and  ruin  his  reputation  to  be  cut  off  "  in  the  heye 
of  the  public,"  and  he  would  "be  blowed"  if  he 
stirred  till  he  finished.  The  manager  now  appealed 
to  me  to  let  him  go  on.  "Now,  mark  me,"  said  I. 
"If  he  rings  that  bell  again,  or  opens  his  mouth, 
I  don't  act."  This  settled  it.  The  little  fat  man 
now  stood  with  his  arms  folded,  glaring  defiance  at 
the  manager  and  his  myrmidons,  but  they  seized 
him  and  a  tremendous  struggle  ensued.  The  tall 
white  hat  was  completely  mashed  over  his  eyes, 
and  in  stamping  violently  with  his  rage  the  head 
of  the  barrel  burst  in,  letting  him  through  till  only 
a  fat  head  just  appeared  above  the  top.  They 
tipped  the  barrel  over  and  rolled  him  off  inside,  to 
the  great  amusement  of  the  bystanders,  who  had 
been  roaring  with  laughter  all  the  time. 

After  having  been  in  the  colonies  about  a  year, 
during  which  time  I  had  acted  quite  steadily,  I  de- 
termined to  take  a  long  rest  and  see  a  little  oLthe 
interior  life  of  the  country.  At  the  invitation  of 
the  Winter  brothers  I  visited  their  station,  the 
land  they  owned,  and  the  Government  lease  con- 
trolled by  them,  extending  over  an  area  of  seventy 


242  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

miles  in  length  and  fifty  in  breadth.  There  are 
many  such  stations  in  Australia,  but  the  pasturage 
was  thin,  and  the  interior  of  the  country  badly 
watered,  so  that  these  vast  tracts  of  land  would  not 
support  with  much  profit  the  large  flocks  of  sheep 
that  grazed  upon  them.  My  son  and  I  lived  with 
the  Winter  brothers  several  weeks.  They  placed 
their  house,  servants,  and  horses  at  our  command, 
to  which  they  added  their  own  pleasant  company 
and  warm  hospitality.  I  staid  three  weeks  with 
these  gentlemen,  shooting,  fishing,  and  riding.  At 
the  end  of  this  time  I  sent  my  son  back  to  Mel- 
bourne to  finish  his  term  at  the  Scotch  college,  and 
having  a  desire  to  penetrate  farther  into  the  coun- 
try, started  for  the  Murray  River,  where  I  was  told 
I  could  see  a  wild  and  interesting  region. 

There  are  little  settlements  along  the  river  to 
which  the  aborigines  pay  periodical  visits  to  beg 
for  ammunition  and  hold  their  "corrobories,"  as 
one  of  their  mystic  ceremonies  is  called.  In  a  few 
days  I  reached  the  river,  and,  having  a  letter  of  in- 
troduction to  the  owner  of  a  large  station,  took  up 
my  abode  there  for  a  fortnight,  meeting  with  the 
same  kind  welcome  that  I  was  assured  would  at- 
tend my  visit. 

A  party  of  "blacks,"  as  the  natives  are  called, 
was  encamped  near  here,  so  I  had  full  time  to  wit- 
ness their  sports,  if  sports  they  can  be  called,  for 
more  dismal  games  can  scarcely  be  imagined.  One 
of  the  features  of  the  "  corrobory  "  is  the  "  skeleton 
dance."  I  saw  this  weird  performance,  which  is 
conducted  in  a  curious  way.  A  long  row  of  fagots 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  243 

or  broken  sticks  was  stretched  upon  the  ground  for 
a  distance  of  forty  feet ;  these  were  ignited,  mak- 
ing the  footlights  to  illuminate  the  performance. 
The  audience  was  made  up  of  myself  and  a  few 
visitors,  paying  what  we  chose  to  give  the  natives 
for  their  artistic  display.  We  were  seated  on  logs, 
stumps,  and  rudely  made  benches  in  front  of  this 
elongated  fire,  huge  logs  being  arranged  between 
us  and  the  blaze,  so  as  to  shield  the  light  from  our 
eyes.  The  actors  always  select  a  dark  and  moon- 
less night  for  this  exhibition,  so  that  before  the  per- 
formance began  all  we  saw  was  a  dismal  forest  of 
tall,  gaunt  trees,  faintly  illuminated  by  the  foot- 
lights. Now  far  off  a  strange  sound  was  heard, 
moaning  and  faint  cries  of  distress;  then  came  the 
dismal  beating  of  a  drum,  and  in  the  distance,  out 
of  the  darkness,  appeared  forty  or  fifty  skeletons. 
They  came  forward  slowly,  hand  in  hand,  with  a 
strange  halting  gait,  till  they  were  close  to  the  fire. 
There  they  paused,  and  for  full  ten  minutes  were 
as  still  as  death.  The  effect  is  produced  by  paint- 
ing their  black  bodies  with  white  earth  or  chalk. 
The  bones  of  the  human  anatomy  are  as  perfectly 
marked  out  as  if  done  by  a  surgeon  and  an  artist 
—  attenuated  white  stripes  down  their  legs,  with 
bulging  knee-caps  and  broad,  white  hips,  the  breast- 
bone and  ribs,  shoulder-blades  and  arms,  all  clearly 
defined,  and  the  long  neck  surmounted  by  a  hideous 
skull.  Their  black  bodies  mingle  with  the  dark- 
ness that  surrounds  them,  and  the  fire  shining  upon 
the  white  pigment  makes  the  illusion  quite  com- 
plete. Not  a  sound  is  heard  for  full  ten  minutes ; 


244  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

even  the  audience  speak  in  whispers.  At  some 
mysterious  signal,  so  arranged  that  no  one  can  de- 
tect it,  every  alternate  skeleton  begins  to  move 
slowly,  the  others  remaining  rigid,  then  they  jerk 
violently  and  spasmodically,  and  suddenly  stop- 
ping, they  become  rigid ;  then  the  alternate  skele- 
tons begin  to  move,  and  so  go  through  the  same 
fantastic  actions.  Now  they  all  screech  and  dance 
together,  and  suddenly,  turning  their  backs,  plunge 
into  the  deep  woods  and  disappear.  The  spectators 
seem  to  breathe  more  freely  after  they  are  gone, 
and,  looking  around  on  one  another,  exclaim 
that  it  is  the  strangest  sight  they  have  ever 
witnessed. 

The  next  morning  I  visited  the  camp,  such  as  it 
was,  for  they  seemed  to  have  little  or  no  shelter. 
The  tribe  numbered  about  sixty  blacks,  and  a  more 
miserable  lot  of  human  beings  I  never  saw  —  long, 
thin  legs  and  arms,  big  stomachs,  huge,  fat  heads 
covered  with  large  shocks  of  unkempt  hair.  I  no- 
ticed there  were  only  two  or  three  children  among 
them,  which  seemed  rather  curious  in  so  large  a 
tribe.  I  asked  one  of  the  women  if  that  was  her 
only  child  which  she  was  holding  by  the  hand,  to 
which  she  replied,  "  Yes,  me  only  keep  dat  one." 
On  inquiry  of  the  landlord  of  the  little  hotel  what 
she  meant  by  that,  he  explained  that  he  supposed 
she  had  drowned  all  the  other  small  members  of 
the  family.  It  seems  that  after  a  child  is  born,  if  it 
is  of  much  trouble  to  the  mother,  she  tosses  it  into 
the  river.  With  these  exhibitions  of  maternal  af- 
fection it  is  no  wonder  that  the  aborigines  of  the 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  245 

country  are  fast  disappearing.  I  don't  suppose 
that  they  make  away  with  their  children  from 
cruelty, —  for  they  do  not  seem  to  possess  either 
that  quality  or  affection, —  but  simply  because  they 
do  not  want  to  be  troubled  with  the  care  of  them. 
They  do  not  appear  to  buy  anything  or  to  offer 
anything  of  consequence  for  sale,  and  as  they  wan- 
der listlessly  from  town  to  town  they  are  followed 
by  the  most  dreadful  lot  of  cur  dogs  of  all  sizes, 
sorts,  and  shapes,  attenuated  and  half-starved  ani- 
mals, that  look  even  more  miserable  than  their 
wretched  masters. 

One  of  their  sports  is  the  throwing  of  the  boom- 
erang. This  instrument  is  made  of  hard  wood  and 
shaped  somewhat  like  a  carpenter's  square.  If  they 
wish  to  strike  an  object,  they  hurl  the  boomerang 
in  an  opposite  direction  from  the  mark.  It  shoots 
forward  at  tremendous  speed,  and  then  suddenly 
stops  for  a  moment,  and,  making  a  sharp  turn, 
comes  backward  almost  to  the  place  it  started 
from,  and  so  strikes  the  object  aimed  at.  Some 
people  think  that  this  eccentric  movement  is 
caused  by  the  shape  of  the  instrument;  but  be 
that  as  it  may,  no  one  can  throw  it  with  any  preci- 
sion but  the  native  blacks. 

The  scenery  in  the  interior  of  Australia  is  in 
many  respects  uninteresting,  having  but  little  vari- 
ety. The  blue-gum  tree,  or  eucalyptus,  grows 
everywhere.  This  tree  is  said  to  have  the  virtue 
of  absorbing  malarious  poisons  from  the  air,  and  has 
been  introduced  in  California  and  the  Southern 
States  with  marked  success. 


246  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

On  one  of  my  excursions,  riding  through  the 
blue-gum  forest,  I  had  galloped  about  twenty 
miles  from  the  home  station ;  dismounting  from 
the  horse,  I  sat  down  to  rest  and  take  a  lunch. 
A  large  flock  of  cockatoos,  those  beautiful  white 
parrots  with  yellow  crests,  came  circling  around 
and  lighted  in  the  trees  overhead.  I  was  watching 
the  curious  manceuvers  of  these  birds  as  they  were 
chattering  and  hopping  about  among  the  limbs, 
when  they  stopped  suddenly  as  if  alarmed.  Some- 
thing was  evidently  approaching  of  which  they 
were  in  dread.  They  set  up  an  awful  scream,  and 
with  a  tremendous  flutter  spread  their  white  wings 
and  sailed  away.  Just  at  this  moment  a  large 
black  collie  dog  came  bounding  out  of  the  bushes 
and  suddenly  stopped  in  front  of  me.  For  a 
moment  I  was  startled.  The  dog  paused  and 
eyed  me  keenly,  then  coming  slowly  up  walked 
round  me,  and  at  last  approached  and  licked  my 
hand,  which  I  had  held  out  to  him.  In  a  moment 
more  he  bounded  away,  leaving  me  astonished  at 
his  strange  conduct.  I  had  never  seen  a  dog  act 
in  so  singular  a  manner,  and  was  wondering  what 
it  could  mean,  when  a  sharp,  joyful  bark  warned 
me  that  he  was  returning  ;  and,  sure  enough,  he 
had  come  back  wagging  his  tail  and  followed  by 
a  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  a  man  thinly  clad,  bare- 
footed, and  with  a  wide-brimmed,  frayed  straw 
hat  on  his  head.  He  was  about  fifty  years  of  age, 
and  as  he  removed  his  hat  and  made  me  a  well- 
mannered,  dignified  bow,  I  could  see  that,  though 
he  was  undoubtedly  a  shepherd,  he  had  once  been 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  247 

a  gentleman  who  had  seen  better  days.  As  he 
stood  bareheaded  before  me  the  wind  blew  his 
long,  thin,  sandy  hair  about  his  brow,  and  he  re- 
garded me  with  a  strange,  far-off  look  in  his  eyes, 
as  if  I  had  been  miles  away.  I  met  several  shep- 
herds after  this,  and  noticed  that  same  strained 
expression.  They  live  so  much  alone,  sometimes 
being  three  and  four  months  without  seeing  a 
human  being,  that  they  form  this  habit  by  looking 
over  the  plains,  hoping  that  they  may  catch  sight 
of  some  one  to  relieve  the  awful  monotony  of  their 
lonely  lives.  "  Thank  God  !  God  bless  you,  sir  ! 
I  hope  you  are  quite  well,"  he  said.  There  was 
not  much  expression  in  the  man's  face.  I  almost 
fancied  that  he  looked  like  a  sheep,  but  there  was 
enough  to  prove  that  he  was  glad  to  see  me ;  and 
would  have  been  to  see  any  one  else,  for  the  mat- 
ter of  that.  "  Sit  down,  my  friend,  and  have  some 
lunch  with  me,"  said  I.  "  Thank  you,  I  will,"  said 
he.  "Well,  Jack,  you  are  right,  quite  right;  you 
always  are,  old  boy."  This  was  said  to  the  dog, 
who  never  once  took  his  eye  off  his  master,  but 
stood  in  front  of  him  wagging  his  affectionate  tail, 
that  expressed  as  much  love  for  the  poor,  tattered, 
wasted  shepherd  as  it  could  have  done  had  he  been 
an  emperor  in  purple  robes.  "  Yes,  always  right 
and  true,  eh,  old  boy  ? "  The  dog  answered  by 
licking  the  shepherd's  hand  and  rubbing  his  head 
against  his  master's  legs. 

"  I  knew  you  were  here,"  said  he.  "  You  knew 
I  was  here  ?  How  could  you  tell  that  ?  What  do 
you  mean  ?  "  "  Oh,  when  I  say  that  I  mean  that 


248  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  knew  it  was  a  friend,  or  at  least  not  an  enemy ; 
and  Jack  knew,  if  I  did  n't.  About  an  hour  ago, 
the  dog  began  to  get  uneasy.  He  ran  about  sniff- 
ing the  air  and  giving  little  short  barks ;  then  all 
of  a  sudden  he  broke  away  and  left  me.  I  thought 
he  was  on  the  lookout  for  something  strange,  so 
I  just  sat  down  among  the  sheep  and  waited  for 
him.  Presently  he  came  back  quite  pleased  at 
what  he  had  discovered ;  then  he  gave  some  more 
of  those  little  short  barks  and  ran  off  towards  you 
and  back  again ;  then  wagged  his  tail  impatiently. 
He  could  not  have  spoken  plainer  if  he  had  been 
a  Christian.  The  loving  beast  knows  the  lonely 
life  I  lead,  and  how  I  yearn  sometimes  for  a  human 
face  to  look  at.  That 's  why  he  went  on  so — God 
bless  him !  It  '11  be  a  shame  for  us  to  live  in  the 
other  world  if  Jack  don't  go  there.  Look  at  him 
now ;  can't  you  see  in  his  face  that  he  knows  that 
I  have  been  talking  about  him? — and  every  word 
I  've  said,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  believe."  And 
sure  enough,  the  look  in  the  dog's  face  was  almost 
human. 

The  man  now  sat  down  quietly  beside  me,  and 
ate  sparingly  and  rather  mechanically  of  the  lunch, 
always  sharing  his  morsel  with  Jack.  I  took  out 
a  flask  of  whisky,  and,  pouring  out  some  of  it  into 
a  cup,  offered  my  guest  a  drink.  His  eyes  beamed 
with  a  longing  look  as  he  saw  the  liquor,  and,  turn- 
ing on  me  a  strange,  frightened  look,  said:  "No, 
none  of  that  for  me.  Put  it  away,  please  ;  I  don't 
like  the  sight  of  it."  It  now  dawned  upon  me  that 
my  friend  was  a  reformed  drunkard,  who  had  come 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  249 

out  to  this  lonely  part  of  the  world  to  avoid  tempta- 
tion. I  had  heard  that  there  were  many  such  in 
Australia,  and  that  the  shepherd's  life  was  chosen 
as  being  the  most  isolated  one  that  could  be  found. 
I  rose  to  take  my  departure,  when  he  put  his  hand 
gently  on  my  arm,  and  with  an  appealing  look 
said:  "You  won't  go  back  to-night,  will  you? 
It 's  too  late.  I  wish  you  'd  stay  in  my  hut  to- 
night, it 's  so  long  since  I  've  seen  a  human  face  — 
over  three  months  now.  A  man  only  comes  once 
in  a  great  while  to  bring  provisions,  and  that  's  all 
we  see  of  humanity  from  one  year's  end  to  another. 
Do  stay  to-night,  won't  you  ?  "  "  I  'd  like  to  oblige 
you,"  I  replied,  "but  they  '11  be  uneasy  about  me 
at  the  home  station.  I  must  be  twenty  miles  from 
there  now,  and  it  will  be  long  after  dark  before  I 
get  back,  even  at  a  smart  gallop."  "  But  are  you 
sure  you  know  the  way?  —  you  might  get  lost," 
said  he.  "  Oh,  no ;  I  've  only  to  keep  on  the 
banks  of  the  Murray  and  I  'm  all  right." 

The  poor  fellow  hung  his  head,  looking  the  pic- 
ture of  despair.  "Well,"  said  I,  "I  '11  stay."  He 
brightened  up  at  this.  "  How  far  is  your  hut  from 
here?  "  I  asked.  "  Not  a  mile,  I  assure  you."  So 
he  started  off  at  a  good  pace,  fearing  I  might  change 
my  mind,  I  suppose.  The  dog  bounded  ahead, 
barking  away,  and  I  followed  on  horseback.  We 
soon  came  upon  his  charge  —  a  large  flock  of  sheep. 
As  they  heard  the  dog's  bark  the  stupid  creatures 
pricked  up  their  ears  and  looked  surprised,  just  as 
if  they  had  never  heard  it  before ;  then  they  took 
to  their  heels  and  galloped  off,  with  the  dog  in  full 


250  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

pursuit,  running  first  in  front,  and  then  at  the  side, 
as  some  stray  wether  showed  a  disposition  to  re- 
bel, then  circling  round  and  round  till  he  got  the 
fold  just  where  he  wanted  them.  He  now  went  in 
and  out  among  the  sheep  as  though  giving  orders 
that  they  were  to  put  up  for  the  night.  They 
seemed  quite  to  understand  him,  so  they  quietly 
lay  down  in  little  family  groups.  By  this  time  we 
had  reached  the  hut,  and  the  dog  came  up  wagging 
his  tail,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  It 's  all  right;  there  's 
none  of  them  missing."  The  hut  was  built  of  mud, 
sticks,  and  straw,  with  the  hard  earth  for  a  floor. 
I  hobbled  my  horse  so  that  he  might  browse  about 
in  safety,  the  shepherd  prepared  a  cup  of  tea, —  the 
usual  beverage  of  the  bush, —  and  the  dog,  not  a 
whit  tired,  stood  bolt  upright  overlooking  his  dis- 
tant charge  with  the  air  of  a  general  reviewing  his 
army. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  behind  the  low  horizon 
with  the  same  effect  that  it  does  at  sea,  and  as  we 
sat  outside  upon  a  couple  of  rude  blocks  of  wood, 
drinking  our  refreshing  tea,  the  moon  rose  up,  shed- 
ding its  soft  light  over  this  mysterious  scene ;  there 
was  no  sound  but  the  distant  tinkle  of  a  sheep-bell 
and  the  crackling  of  the  little  fire  that  was  boiling 
the  tea.  The  smoke  went  straight  and  silently  up 
into  the  still  air;  the  loneliness  was  bad  enough 
with  two  men  —  what  must  it  have  been  with  one  ! 

I  felt  there  was  something  more  in  my  profound 
acquaintance  than  I  had  yet  learned,  so  I  lighted 
my  pipe  and  began  to  draw  him  out.  It  is  curious 
that  a  man  being  alone  among  dumb  creatures  loses 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  251 

after  a  time  something  of  his  human  expression 
and  acquires  that  of  his  dumb  companions,  and  that 
a  dog  under  the  same  circumstances  retains  his  in- 
dividuality. Here  was  a  man  who,  to  judge  from 
his  manner  and  speech,  must  have  been  tenderly 
reared  and  highly  educated,  and  one  too  who  had 
practiced  the  busy  calling  of  the  law ;  yet  in  a  few 
years  of  isolation  the  bright  mind  had  become 
faded,  and  the  human  look  of  the  face  changed  al- 
most to  the  blank  expression  of  a  sheep,  while  a 
dog  under  the  same  circumstances  had  retained 
his  perfect  individuality.  Jack's  eyes  sparkled  like 
diamonds.  His  character  was  marked  by  intelli- 
gence, faithfulness,  and  affection.  He  would  lie 
with  his  head  between  his  paws,  and  his  sharp 
nose  flat  on  the  ground,  turning  up  the  whites  of 
his  eyes  to  watch  us  as  we  talked.  Now  and  again 
he  would  heave  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  The  old  man  is  all  right  to-night ;  he  's 
got  some  one  that  can  talk  to  him." 

I  questioned  the  shepherd  about  his  past  life. 
It  seems  he  had  been  educated  at  Eton;  then  became 
a  fast  youth  in  London,  where  he  studied  for  the  law, 
and  in  a  short  time  rose  to  be  a  successful  barrister. 
He  had  married  early,  and  had  one  child,  a  daugh- 
ter, born  to  him.  After  two  years  of  wedded  life 
he  lost  his  wife  and  child.  Despairingly  he  took 
to  drink,  and,  being  weak  and  desperate,  went 
downhill  and  lost  his  position ;  that  once  lost  in 
London  is  seldom  regained.  Not  so  in  America. 
Here,  when  a  man  falls,  if  he  has  the  strength  to 
brace  up  again  he  goes  to  the  West,  and  rubbing 


252  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

up  against  a  new  society  absorbs  fresh  magnetism 
and  recuperates  at  once :  but  London  is  compact ; 
the  Englishman  hates  to  leave  his  home ;  his  fail- 
ings are  known,  and  if  he  remains  they  are  flung 
in  his  face.  There  is  no  escape  for  him ;  and,  as 
his  friends  shun  him,  he  falls  deeper  into  disgrace. 
This  was  the  trouble  that  had  beset  the  shepherd, 
who,  having  a  sensitive  and  perhaps  weak  mind, 
succumbed  to  the  pressure  that  surrounded  him. 
And  so  after  a  time,  with  a  broken  spirit,  he  left 
England  and  came  to  the  colonies.  He  practiced 
law  in  Melbourne  for  some  time  successfully,  but 
the  old  habit  came  back  upon  him,  and,  as  he  could 
not  resist  temptation,  he  buried  himself  on  this  sta- 
tion. This  was  the  tale  he  told  me,  and  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  its  truth.  After  he  had  fin- 
ished he  turned  his  strange,  far-off  look  on  me 
again,  and  said,  "  Are  you  superstitious  ? " 

"  Well,  I  think  I  am  a  little.  Most  people  are,  if 
they  would  own  it,"  said  I.  "  I  did  n't  use  to  be," 
he  said  with  a  sigh ;  "  but  since  I  Ve  lived  here  I 
seem  to  have  become  so,  and  it 's  all  Jack's  fault." 
The  dog,  not  looking  up,  beat  his  tail  on  the  ground 
gently,  as  if  to  say,  "  Yes,  blame  it  all  on  me ;  it  's 
all  my  fault." 

"  I  have  never  seen  anything  ghostly  or  myste- 
rious myself,  but  I  think  Jack  does  sometimes. 
When  we  're  alone  —  and  God  knows  that  's  often 
enough  —  he  '11  start  up  and  look  around  slowly  as 
if  his  eyes  were  following  something  in  the  hut ;  at 
these  times  he  will  give  a  low,  strange  kind  of 
moan,  and,  putting  his  tail  between  his  legs,  seem 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  253 

to  be  frightened,  peering  up  into  my  face  with  an 
inquiring  stare,  as  if  he  said,  '  Don't  you  see  it, 
too  ? ' '  The  dog  during  this  recital  kept  slowly 
beating  time  with  his  tail,  as  if  he  were  endorsing 
every  word  his  master  said.  "  After  noticing  this 
with  the  dog,"  said  the  shepherd,  "  I  called  to  mind 
the  strange  look  I  used  to  see  in  the  beautiful  face 
of  my  baby  when  she  was  only  six  months  old. 
The  little  thing  would  sometimes  stare  at  vacancy, 
and  then  smile  sweetly  and  turn  its  head  around  as 
if  it  were  following  something — just  as  that  dog 
does.  What 's  your  opinion  of  this  sort  of  thing  ? 
Do  you  think  the  spirits  of  those  we  loved  in  life 
can  return  and  stand  beside  us  ? " 

I  told  him  that  his  question  was  a  difficult  one 
to  answer ;  that  different  people  held  different  opin- 
ions on  these  mysterious  matters,  and  the  chances 
were  that  nobody  had  hit  it  quite  right  yet.  "  Well," 
said  he,  "if  they  can  come,  I  know  who  it  is  that 
the  dog  sees  when  we  're  alone." 

It  was  now  getting  late,  and  the  shepherd  in- 
sisted on  my  taking  his  couch,  an  old  canvas  cot 
with  a  plain  gray  blanket  spread  upon  it ;  so,  as  I 
was  quite  tired,  I  accepted  the  offer,  and  lay  down 
for  a  night's  rest.  My  companion  stretched  his  tall 
figure  on  the  grass  outside.  The  dry  climate  of 
Australia  admits  of  this  ;  there  is  no  danger  in  sleep- 
ing on  the  ground  ;  the  chances  are  there  would  not 
be  a  drop  of  dew  during  the  night,  and  that  the 
grass  in  the  morning  would  be  as  dry  as  hay.  Jack 
lay  down  between  us,  and  seemed,  by  one  or  two  sat- 
isfactory sighs  that  escaped  him,  to  be  quite  happy. 


254  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  was  awake  for  some  time,  and  happening  to 
look  towards  my  new  acquaintance,  found  that  he 
was  lying  upon  his  back  with  the  moon  shining  full 
upon  his  pale  face.  I  had  heard  that  it  was  dan- 
gerous in  this  climate  to  sleep  in  the  moonlight. 
People  have  been  known  to  go  mad,  or  to  have 
been  struck  with  paralysis,  for  committing  this  in- 
discretion. I  called  to  him  to  move  into  the 
shadow,  but  he  did  not  heed  me ;  so,  thinking  he 
had  dozed  off,  I  let  him  alone. 

The  strangeness  of  the  scene,  together  with  the 
strong  tea,  seemed  to  banish  sleep  from  me,  and  I 
must  have  been  there  an  hour  with  my  eyes  closed, 
but  quite  awake,  when  presently  I  heard  something 
stirring,  and,  opening  my  eyes,  saw  the  shepherd 
sitting  up  in  the  doorway  with  his  head  resting  in 
his  hands.  After  a  time  he  arose  and  went  out 
into  the  night  air.  He  seemed  uneasy,  and  began 
restlessly  to  pace  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  hut. 
The  dog  remained  still,  but  I  felt  that  he  was  awake 
and  watching  his  master,  as  he  walked  nervously 
backward  and  forward  in  the  moonlight.  Presently 
the  shepherd  stopped  in  front  of  the  hut,  and  came, 
with  a  hesitating  and  irresolute  step,  towards  the 
door.  He  entered  slowly,  and,  stooping  down 
upon  his  hands  and  knees,  crawled  stealthily  to  the 
chair  on  which  my  coat  was  hanging;  he  put  his 
hand  in  the  breast  pocket  and  drew  forth  the  flask 
of  liquor.  And  now  he  seemed  bewildered,  as  if 
some  strange  emotion  had  seized  upon  him,  and 
then  fell  upon  his  knees  as  if  in  prayer.  Suddenly 
he  seemed  to  rouse  himself,  and,  instead  of  drink- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  255 

ing  the  liquor,  placed  the  flask  untouched  back  in 
the  pocket  of  the  coat ;  then  stretching  himself  on 
the  floor,  with  an  apparent  air  of  comfort  and  sat- 
isfaction, went  off  to  sleep.  The  whole  proceeding 
so  haunted  me  that  it  was  broad  daylight  before  I 
closed  my  eyes.  When  I  awoke,  the  sun  was  high 
in  the  heavens.  It  must  have  been  midday.  My 
host  had  prepared  breakfast  —  some  bread  freshly 
baked,  tea,  and  salt  beef.  He  seemed  quite  calm, 
and  had  lost  the  nervous,  wearied  look  that  was 
noticeable  the  evening  before.  After  our  meal, 
he  spoke  freely  of  the  night's  proceedings  to  me. 
I  told  him  I  had  seen  all  that  had  taken  place.  "  I 
thought  perhaps  it  might  be  so,"  said  he.  "The 
old  craving  came  upon  me  again,  so  strong  too, 
but  if  ever  I  prayed  for  strength  it  was  then.  Well, 
at  that  moment  there  was  a  hand  laid  on  my  head ; 
a  calmness  came  over  me  that  I  had  not  felt  for 
years ;  and  when  I  returned  the  flask  to  your  pocket 
I  knew  then,  as  I  know  now,  that  another  drop  of 
liquor  will  never  pass  my  lips  ;  and,  as  God  is  my 
judge,  I  believe  it  was  the  angel  hand  of  my  dead 
wife  that  rested  on  my  feverish  head.  It  's  all  over 
now,  thank  Heaven,  and  I  can  leave  this  lonely 
place  and  return  to  the  world  again  with  safety." 
I  started  to  ride  for  the  home  station ;  the  shep- 
herd walked  some  distance  by  the  side  of  my  horse, 
and  at  last  we  shook  hands  and  parted.  I  looked 
back  after  a  time,  and  in  the  distance  saw  his  tall 
figure  against  the  sky,  waving  his  old  straw  hat  to 
me,  while  the  faithful  dog  by  his  side  was  looking 
up  into  his  face  and  wagging  that  expressive  tail. 


256  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  traveled  still  farther  into  the  interior — in  fact, 
quite  far  enough  for  safety ;  for  not  over  one  hun- 
dred miles  from  where  I  now  stopped  there  had 
been  living  in  a  stronghold  in  the  mountains  a 
band  of  desperate  men,  and  though  lately  their 
career  had  been  checked,  I  deemed  it  prudent  to 
suppress  any  desire  that  I  had  for  further  explora- 
tions. 

The  bushranger  of  Australia  is  an  offshoot  of 
the  highwayman  of  England.  Convicts  had  been 
sent  from  the  old  country  for  this  unlawful  prac- 
tice, and  after  finishing  out  their  time,  or  being 
pardoned  for  good  conduct,  remained  in  the 
colonies,  instead  of  returning  to  their  native  land. 
Gold  had  been  discovered ;  the  country  was  grow- 
ing rich,  and  offered  a  fine  field  for  the  "  terror  of 
the  road."  In  all  new  and  thriving  countries  there 
is  a  class  of  lazy,  cunning,  and  desperate  men  who 
prey  upon  society,  looking  upon  honesty  as  weak- 
ness, and  society,  by  way  of  punishing  these 
criminals,  wastes  a  good  deal  of  sympathy  and 
sentimentality  upon  them.  The  villains  know 
this,  and  enjoy  the  joke.  Ladies,  I  regret  to  say, 
are  especially  attached  to  this  kind  of  animal. 
The  Claude  Duvals,  Jack  Sheppards,  Lafittes, 
and  Massaronies  of  the  past  were  just  such  cun- 
ning sneaks.  Their  praises  have  been  versed,  and 
we  are  made  to  believe  that  they  were  a  race  of 
persecuted  heroes.  Byron  well  describes  one 
of  these  miserable  wretches  as  sitting  in  a  grace- 
ful attitude  on  the  quarter-deck,  with  a  thoughtful 
brow  and  a  noble  air,  as  if  he  were  turning  over 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  257 

in  his  mind  how  he  could  best  benefit  mankind. 
Our  own  Cooper  describes  the  "  noble  red  man" 
as  only  delaying  his  departure  to  the  "  happy 
hunting-grounds"  in  order  that  he  may  unburden 
himself  of  a  large  stock  of  ready-made  gratitude 
which  he  constantly  keeps  on  hand ;  whereas  it  is 
well  known  that  no  Indian  could  possibly  be  happy 
in  any  hunting-ground  unless  it  was  on  the  reser- 
vation of  some  other  tribe.  I  think  we  rather 
suspect  the  sincerity  of  the  poets  who  dignify 
these  rascals. 

Just  such  a  worthy  as  one  of  the  pirates  re- 
ferred to  had  been  occupying  the  attention  of 
Australia  the  year  before  I  arrived.  The  ladies 
vowed  that  Morgan,  the  man's  name,  had  the  most 
manly  form  that  ever  was  seen,  surmounted  by 
a  perfectly  classic  head :  the  latter  certainly  ought 
to  have  been  very  fine,  for  the  Government  had 
offered  a  thousand  pounds  for  it,  but  up  to  the 
present  time  Mr.  Morgan  had  not  offered  it  for 
sale.  He  evidently  looked  upon  it  as  a  cash  article 
at  any  time,  and  determined  that,  as  it  was  the 
only  one  he  possessed,  he  would  not  force  it  on 
the  market.  "  If  they  want  it,"  said  Morgan,  play- 
fully, "they  must  call  for  it."  It  seems  that  they 
had  called  for  it  on  several  occasions,  but  always 
failed  to  carry  it  away  with  them,  for  the  bush- 
ranger was  a  wary  fellow,  and  had  a  head  able  to 
look  after  itself. 

The  station  where  I  was  now  staying  had  been, 
some  time  back,  the  scene  of  this  fellow's  exploits. 
He  and  his  gang  had  "  stuck  up  "  the  place.  One 
17 


258  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

brave  lad  resisted,  and  was  killed  by  Morgan. 
The  sister  of  this  unfortunate  boy  was  concealed 
in  the  house,  and  witnessed  from  her  hiding-place 
the  cruel  murder  of  her  brother.  The  scene 
preyed  upon  the  poor  girl's  mind,  and  the  spirit 
of  revenge  took  possession  of  her.  Morgan,  being 
quite  a  star  in  the  bushranging  firmament,  paid 
annual  visits  to  the  profitable  stations,  and,  hear- 
ing that  there  was  a  fine  race-horse  on  the  place, 
thought  he  would  call  again  and  make  an  exchange 
for  the  worn-out  beast  he  was  then  riding.  After 
paralyzing  the  small  community  he  took  the  horse, 
and  just  before  his  intended  departure  the  girl  pur- 
posely threw  herself  in  his  way,  offering  to  prepare 
a  meal  for  him.  Being  good-looking,  she  attracted 
his  attention,  and  with  a  full  and  aching  heart  the 
half-crazed  creature  made  an  assignation  with  him 
for  that  night,  to  be  held  at  a  secluded  spot  some 
distance  from  the  house.  The  matter  settled,  the 
bushranger  rode  away  to  await  the  appointed 
hour.  The  desperate  girl  mounted  a  fleet  horse 
and  rode  twelve  miles  to  police  quarters,  giving 
the  alarm,  and  telling  what  she  had  planned.  An 
ambush  was  prepared  that  night,  and  as  the  girl 
approached  the  point  of  meeting  she  waved  her 
handkerchief  for  Morgan  to  appear.  The  stealthy 
murderer  approached,  and  at  the  next  wave  of  the 
handkerchief  fell  dead,  riddled  with  bullets. 

A  large  sum  of  money  was  subscribed  by  the 
wealthy  people  of  the  colony  and  given  to  the  girl, 
besides  half  of  the  reward,  which  was  divided  be- 
tween her  and  the  captain  of  police ;  but  the  men- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  259 

tal  strain  told  upon  her,  and  she  never  recovered 
from  the  shock. 

Having  had  a  long  rest  from  acting,  I  returned 
to  Melbourne  to  play  a  short  engagement  with  my 
former  partner  at  the  Haymarket,  and  then  sailed 
for  Van  Diemen's  Land,  now  called  Tasmania. 
This  lovely  island  had  formerly  been  a  convict  sta- 
tion, where  life-sentenced  prisoners  from  England 
had  been  sent.  There  was  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  and 
is  now,  a  most  refined  society  in  Tasmania,  though 
among  the  lower  classes  there  was  a  strong  flavor 
of  the  convict  element.  I  acted  "The  Ticket-of- 
Leave  Man "  for  the  first  time  in  Hobart  Town, 
and  there  was  much  excitement  in  the  city  when 
the  play  was  announced.  At  least  one  hundred 
ticket-of-leave  men  were  in  the  pit  on  the  first  night 
of  its  production.  Before  the  curtain  rose,  I  looked 
through  it  at  this  terrible  audience ;  the  faces  in  the 
pit  were  a  study.  Men  with  low  foreheads  and 
small,  peering,  ferret-looking  eyes,  some  with  flat 
noses,  and  square,  cruel  jaws,  and  sinister  expres- 
sions,—  leering,  low,  and  cunning, —  all  wearing  a 
sullen,  dogged  look,  as  though  they  would  tear  the 
benches  from  the  pit  and  gut  the  theater  of  its 
scenery  if  one  of  their  kind  was  held  up  to  public 
scorn  upon  the  stage.  This  shows  the  power  of 
the  drama.  An  author  might  write  an  article 
abusing  them,  or  an  artist  paint  a  picture  showing 
up  the  hideous  deformity  of  their  features  —  all  this 
they  could  bear  and  even  laugh  at ;  but  put  one  of 
their  sort  upon  the  stage  in  a  human  form,  surrounded 
by  the  sympathetic  story  of  a  play,  and  they  would 


260  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

no  more  submit  to  an  ill  usage  of  him  than  they 
would  to  a  personal  attack  upon  themselves. 

The  first  act  of  the  play  progressed  with  but  lit- 
tle excitement.  These  men  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
humorous  and  pathetic  side  of  the  story  with  great 
relish  ;  but  when  I  came  upon  the  stage  in  the  sec- 
ond act,  revealing  the  emaciated  features  of  a  re- 
turned convict,  with  sunken  eyes  and  a  closely 
shaved  head,  there  was  a  painful  stillness  in  the 
house.  The  whole  pit  seemed  to  lean  forward  and 
strain  their  eager  eyes  upon  the  scene ;  and  as 
Bob  Brierly  revealed  to  his  sweetheart  the  "  secrets 
of  the  prison  house,"  there  were  little  murmurs  of 
recognition  and  shakings  of  the  head,  as  though 
they  fully  recognized  the  local  allusions  that  they 
so  well  remembered ;  deep-drawn  sighs  for  the 
sufferings  that  Bob  had  gone  through,  and  little 
smothered  laughs  at  some  of  the  old,  well- remem- 
bered inconveniences  of  prison  life  ;  but  then,  Bob 
was  a  hero,  and  their  sympathies  were  caught  by 
the  nobleness  of  his  character  and  his  innocence  of 
crime,  as  though  each  one  of  these  villains  recog- 
nized how  persecuted  he  and  Bob  had  been. 

As  the  play  progressed,  their  enthusiasm  in- 
creased. Whenever  Bob  was  hounded  by  a  detec- 
tive or  ill-treated  by  the  old  Jew,  they  would  howl 
their  indignation  at  the  actors ;  and  when  he  came 
out  unscathed  at  the  end  of  the  play,  a  monument 
of  persecuted  innocence,  they  cheered  to  the  very 
echo.  This  performance  rendered  me  extremely 
popular  with  some  of  the  old  "lags"  of  Hobart 
Town ;  and  I  was  often  accosted  on  the  street  by 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  261 

these  worthies  and  told  some  touching  tale  of  their 
early  persecutions.  In  fact  they  quite  looked  on 
me  as  an  old  "  pal."  These  courtesies  were  very 
flattering,  but  the  inconvenience  that  I  was  caused 
by  being  poked  in  the  ribs  and  winked  at  now  and 
then,  as  much  as  to  say,  "All  right,  old  boy,  we 
know, —  you  Ve  been  there,"  rendered  my  favor- 
itism among  these  fellows  rather  irksome. 

An  English  audience  is  as  loyal  to  an  old  fa- 
vorite as  the  nation  is  to  its  queen.  Therefore 
the  visit  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Kean  to  the  col- 
onies was  hailed  with  delight  by  the  public. 

Old  Londoners  who  remembered  young  Charles 
Kean  and  Ellen  Tree  in  the  springtime  of  their 
lives  were  charmed  to  think  that  they  would  not 
only  renew  their  acquaintance  with  these  celebrated 
artists,  but  could  take  their  children  to  see  the  fa- 
vorite actors  who  had  delighted  their  fathers  and 
mothers  in  days  gone  by.  The  Keans  on  their 
opening  night  were  welcomed  with  great  warmth ; 
the  audience  rose  from  their  seats  and  cheered 
them  as  they  came  upon  the  stage ;  old  ladies  and 
gentlemen  waved  their  handkerchiefs  and  stood  up 
to  applaud  their  former  favorites  as  though  they 
would  have  said,  "  Welcome,  welcome  to  our  new 
home.  Age  has  dimmed  our  eyes  and  wrinkled 
our  brows,  but,  thank  Heaven,  it  has  not  weakened 
our  affection." 

The  engagement  was  a  financial  success,  for 
every  one  was  anxious  to  see  the  Keans ;  but  time 
had  told  upon  them,  and  there  was  a  feeling  of  dis- 
appointment in  the  audience  that  with  all  their 


262  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

kindness  they  could  not  shake  off  or  conceal  —  the 
veterans  had  tarried  too  long.  Mr.  Kean  felt  this, 
and  regretted  that  he  had  come  so  far  only  to 
shatter  his  reputation. 

About  a  week  after  their  appearance  I  was  walk- 
ing through  St.  Kilda  Park,  when  I  came  sud- 
denly upon  an  old  gentleman  sitting  alone  upon  a 
bench ;  he  seemed  to  be  looking  out  upon  the  bay 
with  a  sad  and  thoughtful  expression.  I  had  not 
seen  Charles  Kean  upon  the  stage  since  I  was  a 
boy :  he  was  then  young,  vigorous,  and  in  the  ze- 
nith of  his  fame,  full  of  hope  and  ambition,  and  just 
married  to  that  gifted  actress  Ellen  Tree  ;  and  here 
he  sat  an  old  man,  in  a  far-off  land,  and  from  the 
melancholy  look  upon  his  face  was  perhaps  think- 
ing that  the  closing  scene  of  his  career  was  near 
at  hand.  I  had  been  regarding  him  for  some 
time,  when  at  last  he  looked  up  and  caught  my 
eye ;  he  stared*  at  me  with  no  very  pleased  ex- 
pression :  my  apparent  rudeness  had  evidently 
offended  him,  so  I  at  once  told  him  who  I  was, 
and  he  seemed  glad  to  see  me.  "Sit  down," 
said  he.  "I  was  just  going  to  write  you  to  call 
on  me ;  you  ought  to  have  done  so  before :  I 
am  the  last  comer;  and,  between  you  and  me, 
I  am  sorry  that  I  came."  I  told  him  that  I  had 
intended  to  call,  but  had  heard  that  he  was  suf- 
fering from  dyspepsia,  so  I  thought  I  would  delay 
paying  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Kean  and  himself 
until  he  had  quite  recovered. 

4 'Well,  "said  he,  "  as  I  said,  I  was  going  to  write 
you  ;  and,  curiously  enough,  I  believe  I  was  think- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  263 

ing  of  you  while  you  stood  in  front  of  me.  By  the 
way,  what  was  I  doing  while  you  were  looking 
at  me  ?  —  anything  foolish ;  making  faces  or  any 
nonsense  of  that  kind,  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  said  I,  laughing  at  his  anxiety. 
"  You  were  quite  correct,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  you  know  an  actor  when  alone 
is  very  apt,  if  he  is  thinking  of  his  part,  to  frown 
and  stare  in  a  very  unmeaning  way.  I  remember 
once  in  London  I  had  ordered  lunch  at  Verey's  in 
Regent  street,  and  while  I  was  waiting  for  it,  be- 
gan, in  an  abstracted  kind  of  way,  going  over  one 
of  the  scenes  of  '  Louis  XI.'  to  myself.  Suddenly 
I  saw  two  young  fellows  talking  to  one  of  the  wait- 
ers and  pointing  at  me  ;  then  they  passed  out,  ap- 
parently laughing  at  something  I  had  done.  I  was 
quite  indignant,  and  called  the  waiter  to  ask  what 
they  said.  Well,  sir,  it  all  came  out :  I  had  been 
frowning  and  staring,  first  one  way  and  then  another, 
going  over  my  part,  and  those  fellows  thought  I 
was  mad  " ;  and  here  he  burst  out  in  an  immoder- 
ate fit  of  laughter.  "Well,  come,"  said  he;  "  I 
have  had  a  good  laugh,  at  all  events,  and,  as  it  is 
the  first  for  a  week,  I  have  enjoyed  it.  Now,  then, 
I  wish  to  consult  you  on  a  matter  of  some  impor- 
tance ;  and  as  it  is  in  reference  to  our  approaching 
visit  to  America,  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  can,  and 
will,  give  me  all  the  information  I  require.  I  heard 
that  you  were  in  front  several  times  during  the  last 
week :  now  tell  me  candidly, —  don't  be  afraid  of 
giving  offense, —  what  do  you  think  of  our  engage- 
ment here  ? " 


264  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"Well,  in  the  first  place  your  reception  was  one 
of  the  warmest  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen,"  I 
said. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  he;  "the  reception  was  cor- 
dial. But  after  that  there  was  a  coldness,  a  lack 
of  enthusiasm ;  and  this  feeling  has  characterized 
the  audience  during  the  entire  week:  now  don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 

This  question  was  rather  a  poser.  I  felt  that 
every  word  he  had  spoken  was  true,  but  I  knew 
he  was  ill  and  needed  encouragement  more  than 
facts ;  so  I  put  a  bold  front  on  the  matter,  and  told 
him  that  I  thought  he  was  oversensitive,  and  only 
fancied  that  the  audience  was  cold,  and  that  the 
crowded  houses  ought  to  convince  him  of  this. 

"  That  is  what  my  wife  says,"  said  he  ;  "  but  she 
is  so  full  of  hope  and  cheerfulness  that  nothing 
daunts  her.  Well,  now  then,  to  the  point.  We 
go  from  here  to  California,  and  then  to  New  York, 
Philadelphia,  and  so  on.  What  play  would  you 
advise  us  to  open  in  — '  The  Gamester '  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,"  I  replied. 

"Why  not?  Don't  you  think  it  a  good  play?  " 
said  he. 

"  It  was  a  good  play  fifty  years  ago,"  I  replied, 
"  but  not  now.  It  is  old-fashioned  and  beyond  en- 
durance, and  details  the  misery  of  a  married  couple 
in  a  most  mournful  way.  Just  think  of  sitting 
through  five  acts  of  woe  unrelieved  by  one  touch 
of  humor.  The  theme  is  a  gloomy  one ;  and,  be- 
lieve me,  when  you  lay  it  upon  the  shelf  it  will 
gather  dust  and  mildew.  I  would  suggest  that 


MR.    CHARLES    KEAN    AS    "KING    JOHN. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  265 

you  open  in  '  Louis  XI.'  Without  Mrs.  Kean  your 
name  will  be  sufficient  to  attract  on  the  opening 
night ;  then  bring  out  your  wife  as  Queen  Catherine, 
yourself  playing  Wolsey  ;  follow  this  with  Macbeth, 
and  Lady  Macbeth :  in  fact,  I  should  not,  if  I  were 
in  your  place,  extend  the  repertory  beyond  these 
plays  ;  if  you  confine  yourself  to  this  prescription, 
your  success  is  assured.  '  The  Wife's  Secret '  and 
1  The  Gamester '  are  all  well  enough  here :  your 
audience  is  largely  made  up  of  friends  who  remem- 
ber you  both  with  pleasure  —  the  plays,  too, 
memories ;  but  you  have  been  so  long  away  from 
America  that  the  present  generation  of  playgoers 
will  be  new  acquaintances,  who  have  no  former  re- 
membrance of  you,  and  will  only  look  at  the  en- 
tertainment for  just  what  it  is,  and  not  for  what 
it  was." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Kean  ;  "  that  is  rather  a  delicate 
way  of  hinting  that  Mrs.  Kean  and  I  should  act 
parts  better  suited  to  our  age."  And  here  he  eyed 
me  with  a  sly,  peering  look. 

"Well,"  I  replied,  "you  have  asked  me  to  be 
candid,  and  that  is  just  what  I  mean." 

"And  I  believe  that  you  are  quite  right,"  said 
he  ;  "  but  my  wife  will  have  it  that  we  are  as  young 
and  beautiful  as  ever.  I  believe  that  she  would 
act  Juliet  now  if  I  were  fool  enough  to  play  Romeo 
with  her."  And  here  he  had  another  good  laugh. 

Although  Charles  Kean  was  irritable  at  times, 
he  was  delightful  company,  and  told  a  good  story 
with  great  glee.  Some  of  his  anecdotes  of  the 
London  stage  were  most  amusing.  While  we  were 


266  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

chatting,  a  party  of  some  three  or  four  blacks  came 
in  sight.  I  hailed  them,  thinking  that  Kean  might 
like  to  see  the  throwing  of  the  boomerang. 

A  tall,  gaunt  fellow,  with  scarcely  a  pound  of 
flesh  on  his  ungainly  bones,  and  evidently  the 
leader  of  the  party,  astonished  us  with  his  dexterity. 
He  walked  three  or  four  paces  forward  with  a 
swinging  kind  of  gait,  and,  casting  his  eye  behind, 
pointed  to  where  he  intended  to  make  the  weapon 
strike ;  now  whirling  it  straight  forward  it  shot 
into  the  air,  and,  making  a  sudden  turn,  came  back 
and  struck  the  spot  he  had  indicated. 

"Ah,"  said  Kean,  "they  may  well  call  Australia 
the  antipodes ;  when  the  natives  want  to  hit  a 
mark  in  the  west,  they  hurl  the  weapon  towards 
the  east." 

The  black  came  up  for  his  exhibition  money, 
and  stood  in  front  of  us  with  his  limp  hand  ex- 
tended and  an  idiotic  grin  on  his  face ;  and  surely 
he  was  a  sight  to  look  at  —  as  lean  as  a  skeleton, 
and  as  black  and  shining  as  a  piece  of  polished 
ebony.  His  attenuated  form  was  crowned  with  an 
ugly  head,  covered  with  a  bushy  shock  of  unkempt 
hair,  and  his  face  was  blank  and  expressionless. 
What  a  contrast  he  made  to  the  intellectual  and 
thoughtful  face  of  the  tragedian !  Here  was  a 
Shaksperean  scholar,  who  had  been  educated  at 
Eton,  standing  side  by  side  with  this  uncouth  sav- 
age, so  low  down  in  the  scale  of  humanity  that  he 
was  barely  conscious  of  his  own  existence ;  and 
yet  the  actor  was  rewarding  the  black  for  the  per- 
formance of  a  dexterous  feat  that  would  have  puz- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  267 

zled  the  old  Eton  boy  to  accomplish  if  he  had  tried 
it  until  doomsday. 

Nothing  would  do  now  but  that  I  should  join 
him  at  luncheon,  so  we  walked  to  the  hotel,  where 
I  was  presented  to  Mrs.  Kean,  who  was  in  a  high 
state  of  anxiety  at  the  prolonged  absence  of  her 
husband.  There  was  no  affectation  in  her  solici- 
tude ;  one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  she  was  a 
noble  companion  for  her  liege  lord,  and  full  of  care 
and  affection  for  him.  He  at  once  turned  the  con- 
versation on  the  disappointment  he  felt  on  the 
result  of  their  first  week's  engagement ;  his  wife 
laughed  at  the  idea,  and  I  joined  in  with  her.  Af- 
ter we  had  settled  this  matter,  he  detailed  to  her 
our  late  conversation  in  part,  out  of  pure  mischief, 
I  believe,  beginning  somewhat  in  the  following 
strain :  "  My  dear,  Mr.  Jefferson  thinks  that  it  is 
high  time  for  two  such  old  fools  as  you  and  I  to 
give  up  playing  young  parts  and  go  into  characters 
whose  antiquity  will  be  more  suited  to  our  dilapi- 
dated appearance."  I  felt  like  throwing  a  loaf  of 
bread  at  his  head  for  daring  to  place  me  in  such  a 
false  position,  and  endeavored  to  explain  to  Mrs. 
Kean  how  he  had  forced  the  whole  affair  upon  me, 
while  he  was  laughing  immoderately  and  enjoying 
my  discomfort.  However,  she  took  the  matter  so 
good-naturedly  that  I  felt  satisfied  that  she  under- 
stood me  in  relation  to  his  fabrication  as  well  as 
she  did  her  husband's  exaggerations.  As  soon  as 
my  mortification  was  over  I  began  to  enjoy  the 
joke.  Kean  was  in  high  spirits,  though  now  and 
then,  in  the  midst  of  his  hilarity,  a  sad  and  despair- 


268  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

ing  expression  would  force  itself  into  his  face.  He 
went  out  on  the  balcony  to  enjoy  his  cigar,  leaving 
Mrs.  Kean  and  me  alone.  During  his  absence  her 
cheerful  manner  altered,  and  it  was  plain  to  me 
that  she  had  taken  in  the  situation  of  their  engage- 
ment more  clearly  than  he  had,  for  she  said  to  me, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  Thank  you  for  keeping  up 
his  spirits  ;  he  needs  it." 

Ten  years  after  this,  I  met  Mrs.  Kean  at  a  gar- 
den party  in  London  ;  she  was  then  a  widow.  This 
estimable  lady  has  since  that  time  passed  away. 
Peace  and  happiness  be  with  her !  As  an  actress, 
she  was  for  years  the  delight  of  the  public ;  and  as 
a  wife,  a  comfort  and  an  honor  to  her  husband. 

During  my  visit  to  Australia  I  acted  at  Dayles- 
ford,  and  after  the  performance,  by  the  invitation 
of  a  friend,  I  visited  a  Chinese  theater.  We  rode 
through  the  woods  for  three  miles  to  a  camp  or 
gold-diggings  worked  by  the  Chinese.  There 
was  a  large  population  of  them  here — about  two 
thousand.  It  was  past  twelve  o'clock  when  we 
reached  the  theater,  where  the  actors  were  hard 
at  it,  and  had  been  from  sundown.  The  theater 
was  under  a  tent,  looking  like  a  small  modern 
circus  cut  in  two.  The  seats  were  arranged  in 
a  half-circle,  the  stage  coming  out  well  among 
the  audience.  The  Chinese  manager  had  been 
apprised  of  our  visit,  so  he  had  reserved  seats  in 
the  center  of  the  tent,  which  was  quite  full  of 
Chinamen.  The  orchestra  was  at  the  back,  and 
the  music — if  the  hideous  sounds  they  made  can 
be  dignified  by  that  name — was  played  at  inter- 


MRS.    CHARLES     KEAN    AS     "HERMIONE." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  269 

vals  during  the  whole  performance.  I  recognized 
the  play  by  its  action  to  be  our  old  friend,  "The 
Young  Scamp."  In  French  it  is  called  "  Le  Gamin 
de  Paris";  in  Chinese,  "The  Mother's  Pet";  and 
I  suppose  every  nation  in  the  world  has  a  free 
translation  of  this  universal  piece  of  humanity. 
What  on  earth  the  music  has  to  do  with  a  Chinese 
play,  I  could  never  discover.  The  band  will  re- 
main perfectly  quiet  for  five  or  ten  minutes,  and 
then,  apparently  without  the  slightest  provocation, 
burst  forth  upon  the  audience,  splitting  their  ears 
with  the  most  dreadful  din — the  scraping  of  cat- 
gut, the  tooting  of  pipes,  tinkling  of  triangles,  and 
banging  of  gongs,  altogether  making  a  most  dis- 
cordant clatter.  Now  dead  silence ;  then  a  long 
speech  by  some  actor,  punctuated  by  little  taps  on 
a  small  sheepskin  drum,  the  catgut  man  now  and 
then  scraping  a  parenthesis.  The  musicians  sit 
bolt  upright,  staring  in  front  of  them,  without  any 
movement  or  expression,  looking  like  a  lot  of 
badly  made  wax-figures  in  a  museum.  Then, 
when  all  is  quiet  and  you  least  expect  it,  they 
will  bob  their  heads  up  and  down,  banging  and 
tooting  and  scraping  everything  they  can  lay  their 
hands  upon.  The  interpreter  tried  to  explain  to 
me  that  this  was  done  sometimes  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  audience,  but  to  me  it  would  seem 
to  have  the  contrary  effect. 

The  dialogue  began  to  get  monotonous,  and  I 
asked  permission  of  the  manager  that  I  might  go 
behind  the  scenes  and  see  some  of  my  Chinese 
brother  actors.  This,  after  some  red  tape,  was 


270  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

allowed  me.  Instead  of  the  actors  getting  them- 
selves ready  to  go  home,  as  I  naturally  supposed 
at  this  time  of  night,  or  rather  morning,  they  would 
do,  the  entire  company  was  preparing  for  another 
play — enrobing  themselves  in  richly  embroidered 
costumes,  and  covering  their  faces  with  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow,  which  they  got  out  of  little 
round  pots  filled  with  oil  paint.  As  the  manager 
was  given  to  understand  that  I  was  in  my  way 
a  "star"  from  America,  he  insisted  that  I  must 
only  be  introduced  to  his  "star";  so  I  was  ushered 
into  a  small  tent  set  apart  for  that  celebrity. 

This  person  seemed  to  have  got  through  with 
his  portion  of  the  entertainment  before  I  came. 
Of  course  we  could  only  talk  through  our  inter- 
preter, who  seemed  to  have  the  faculty  of  explain- 
ing everything  the  wrong  way.  I  understood, 
however,  that  it  would  give  the  great  actor  much 
pleasure  if  I  would  have  a  little  gin  and  smoke 
a  pipe  of  opium  with  him.  Upon  my  declining 
these  delicacies,  he  faintly  smiled  on  me  in  a  pity- 
ing and  sympathizing  way,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Ah,  these  barbaric  Americans ;  they  have  no 
idea  of  comfort  or  refinement."  He  was  himself 
already  well  under  the  influence  of  the  fatal  drug, 
and,  whatever  the  end  might  produce,  was  cer- 
tainly now  on  good  terms  with  himself  and  all 
the  world.  I  could  not  help  thinking  what  a 
curious  incident  this  was  —  to  be  here  at  the 
antipodes,  sitting  in  the  dressing-room  of  a  Chi- 
nese tragedian.  I  looked  at  his  fat  and  inexpres- 
sive face,  and  wondered  if  he  had  even  heard  of 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  271 

Shakspere.  He  sat  there  in  front  of  me  nodding 
his  head  as  if  he  were  answering  my  question  and 
saying :  "  Oh,  yes,  young  man.  Shakspere  ?  Oh, 
yes,  very  often ;  but  he  's  quite  a  mistake,  I  assure 
you." 

My  friend  now  entered  the  tent,  and  admonished 
me  that  it  was  near  daylight  and  time  to  go  home. 
As  I  went  out,  I  turned  back  for  a  last  look  at  my 
Oriental  companion,  who  had  by  this  time  entirely 
succumbed  to  the  influence  of  the  narcotic.  He 
was  stretched  out  in  a  chair,  his  smooth  yellow 
face  widened  out  with  an  imbecile  smile  of  idiotic 
bliss,  and  his  two  conventional  Chinese  eyes  ele- 
vated at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  The  fresh 
air  revived  me  ;  so  we  mounted  our  horses  and  rode 
away  just  as  the  day  was  dawning,  while  the  gongs 
and  the  tooting  and  the  scraping  were  going  on  in 
the  distance. 

In  April,  1864,  I  took  a  steamer  from  Melbourne 
to  New  Zealand.  This  was  a  rough  and  treacher- 
ous voyage.  The  great  island  has  an  iron-bound 
coast,  and  the  ragged  rocks  were  horrible  to  look 
at  as  we  approached  the  harbor  of  Dunedin. 

On  my  arrival  I  found  the  theater  in  which  I 
was  to  act  doing  a  great  business  with  some  novel 
attraction  that  had  just  hit  the  public  taste. 
Clarence  Holt,  the  manager,  requested  me,  in 
consequence  of  the  sudden  and  unexpected  success 
that  had  attended  his  new  enterprise,  to  delay  my 
opening  for  two  weeks.  As  time  was  no  great 
object  to  me,  I  consented,  deciding  to  spend  the 
interim  at  a  Maori  village  on  the  coast  called  Wik- 


272  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

awite,  where  there  was  good  fishing  and  shooting ; 
and,  as  I  had  been  quite  ill  for  the  month  previous 
to  leaving  Melbourne,  I  felt  that  the  rest  and  sea- 
bathing would  strengthen  me,  and  perhaps  assist 
to  fill  out  my  attenuated  form  ;  so  I  took  up  my 
abode  for  a  week  at  a  little  hotel  at  this  place,  sur- 
rounded by  the  native  Maoris.  Of  course  these 
people  were  in  a  semi-civilized  state,  though  they 
had  formerly  been  cannibals,  and  when  out  fishing 
with  them  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  Sydney 
Smith's  description  of  a  New  Zealand  lunch,  "with 
cold  missionary  on  the  sideboard,"  and  his  solemn 
farewell  to  the  minister  who  was  leaving  Eng- 
land for  the  purpose  of  christianizing  the  Maoris. 
"  Good-by,  my  reverend  friend,"  said  he;  "and  if 
they  eat  you,  I  hope  you  '11  disagree  with  them." 
I  felt  quite  safe  among  them,  however,  for,  as  I  was 
very  thin,  I  presented  anything  but  a  tempting 
morsel  to  these  voracious  warriors.  The  Maoris 
are  said  to  be  the  finest  race  of  savages  in  the 
world.  They  are  giants  in  size  and  strength, 
and  their  symmetrical  bodies  are  tattooed  in 
grotesque  figures  and  patterns,  sometimes  from 
head  to  foot. 

I  saw  a  party  of  them  act  in  a  play  that  had 
been  written  to  show  off  their  sports  and  ceremo- 
nies, and  in  one  of  the  scenes  where  they  were 
tracking  an  enemy  the  grace  and  earnestness  with 
which  they  moved  were  surprising. 

My  engagement  in  New  Zealand  was  quite  suc- 
cessful, the  old  comedies,  strange  to  say,  being  pre- 
ferred. I  now  returned  to  act  in  Sydney,  from 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  273 

which  place  I  had  been  absent  nearly  three  years. 
On  my  arrival  Father  O'Grady  called  on  me,  and, 
to  my  surprise,  introduced  me  to  his  wife.  He  was 
still  faithful  to  his  Church,  but  had  given  up  his 
orders  and  had  married.  I  did  not  blame  myself 
for  making  him  an  apostate ;  for  it  was  evident, 
from  the  beauty  of  the  lady,  that  not  my  advice, 
but  her  black  eyes,  had  been  too  much  for  the 
"good  St.  Anthony." 

From  Sydney  I  returned  to  Melbourne,  to  play 
my  farewell  engagement  in  the  colonies  and  bid 
adieu  to  the  many  friends  I  had  made.  And  as  I 
look  back  upon  the  four  years  I  passed  in  Aus- 
tralia I  can  only  recall  a  dear  remembrance  of  the 
kindness  that  was  shown  to  me  by  the  refined  and 
hospitable  people  of  that  country.  For  a  long  time 
after  I  left  there  I  contemplated  paying  it  another 
visit,  but  year  after  year  rolled  on,  and  now  I  fear 
it  is  too  late.  To  wander  through  the  streets  that 
I  so  well  remember  and  find  them  altered  would 
be  nothing ;  we  are  too  used  to  these  changes 
in  our  own  country  to  be  affected  by  the  wonder- 
ful growth  of  cities  and  the  sudden  shifting  of 
localities  ;  but  I  should  feel  lonely  indeed  to  miss 
the  faces  that  were  so  familiar,  and  to  think 
over  the  olden  time  when  I  was  young  and  full 
of  hope  —  surrounded  by  loving  companions  who 
had  gathered  around  me  when  I  was  a  stranger 
among  them.  It  is  a  quarter  of  a  century 
since  I  left  that  distant  land  and  those  dear 
friends,  but  I  have  never  forgotten  them,  and  I 
am  told  that  there  are  many  who  still  remember 


274  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

me.  And  now  farewell,  Australia!  I  have  no 
feeling  but  loving  gratitude  for  you,  and  should 
these  pages  meet  the  eye  of  some  old  friend,  let  us 
feel  that  we  have  come  once  more  together  upon 
this  earth  and  shaken  hands. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN   SOUTH   AMERICA 

Callao  —  Lima  —  A  Midnight  Funeral —  A  Beg- 
gar on  Horseback —  The  Theater  in  Callao — A 
Religious  Tableau — A  Tropical  City — Leav- 
ing South  A merica  —  An  Incident  in  Panama 

I  LEFT  Melbourne  in  a  sailing  vessel  in  the 
month  of  April,  1865,  bound  for  South  Amer- 
ica on  my  way  to  England.  We  were  fifty- 
seven  days  at  sea  —  a  long  and  dreary  voyage. 
During  the  whole  passage  we  saw  but  one  vessel. 
This  portion  of  the  Pacific  is  a  waste  of  water, 
unbroken  by  land  or  any  moving  object,  save  the 
flight  of  the  lonely  albatross.  This  large  bird 
sometimes  measures  ten  feet  from  tip  to  tip  of  its 
wings,  and  as  it  sails  around  the  ship  it  turns  its 
head  slowly  from  side  to  side  with  a  wise  and  dig- 
nified look.  The  flight  is  graceful  and  mysterious. 
At  times  it  will  poise  itself  in  the  air,  seemingly 
without  motion.  We  caught  several  of  these  birds 
with  a  hook  and  a  piece  of  meat.  When  seen 
closely  they  lose  much  of  their  mysterious  beauty. 


276  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


They  are  not  good  sailors,  and  their  sea-legs  are 
treacherous.  As  soon  as  they  stand  on  deck  they 
become  seasick  and  disgorge  their  food.  As  few 
ships  cross  the  track  of  vessels  in  this  region,  the 
dreary  waste  is  called  by  the  sailors  "  the  wilder- 
ness "  ;  and  the  thought  will  force  itself  upon  one 
that,  if  an  accident  should  occur  here,  and  the 
crew  and  passengers  be  compelled  to  take  to  the 
open  boats,  there  would  be  but  a  slight  chance  of 
being  picked  up  for  many  days. 

We  had  several  passengers,  two  of  whom  enliv- 
ened the  trip  with  their  political  arguments.  One 
was  from  South  Carolina,  the  other  from  Massa- 
chusetts, and  their  disputes  were  quite  violent.  I 
was  a  kind  of  mediator  between  these  hostile  par- 
ties, and  helped  to  settle  some  of  their  quarrels. 
At  times  they  were  the  best  of  friends,  and  really 
liked  each  other  very  much.  We  would  often  see 
them  walking  up  and  down  the  deck,  almost  affec- 
tionate in  their  manner  towards  each  other;  sud- 
denly a  chance  shot  would  be  fired,  and  then  their 
feelings  would  burst  forth  in  a  blaze  of  excitement. 
They  would  break  away  and  stride  furiously  from 
one  end  of  the  ship  to  the  other,  and  when  they 
met  would  face  each  other  like  a  pair  of  bantam 
fighting-cocks,  with  their  arms  akimbo  and  their 
heads  violently  wagging  away  until  one  would 
think  they  must  soon  come  to  blows. 

On  the  fifty-seventh  day  we  dropped  anchor  in 
the  bay  of  Callao,  six  miles  from  the  beautiful  city 
of  Lima,  on  the  coast  of  Peru.  A  heavy  fog  set- 
tled over  the  town  just  as  we  arrived,  and  all  sur- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  277 

rounding  objects  were  quite  invisible  :  not  even  the 
lights  of  the  place  could  be  seen,  and  we  only  knew 
our  position  in  relation  to  the  town  by  the  howl- 
ing of  innumerable  dogs  on  shore  ;  one  of  the  pas- 
sengers facetiously  remarking  at  breakfast  that  he 
had  been  kept  awake  all  night  by  the  heaviest  dose 
of  Peruvian  bark  he  had  ever  taken.  In  the  morn- 
ing the  fog  was  still  heavy  and  impenetrable,  and  we 
were  waiting  for  it  to  clear  off  so  that  we  could 
land  and  get  some  news.  The  two  belligerents 
were  uneasy  and  restless,  eagerly  desiring  some 
bulletins  of  the  war.  Presently  we  heard  the  plash 
of  oars,  and  a  boat  darted  suddenly  out  of  the  mist, 
stopping  close  beside  the  hull  of  our  vessel.  It 
was  rowed  by  two  swarthy  looking  Peruvians,  and 
in  the  stern  there  sat,  or  rather  leaned  lazily  back, 
a  tall,  thin  man  with  his  legs  wrapped  round  each 
other  and  a  cigar  tilted  up  so  high  in  his  mouth 
that  it  must  have  scorched  the  wide  rim  of  his  Pan- 
ama hat.  He  was  unmistakably  my  countryman, 
and  if  there  had  been  any  doubt  of  this  he  soon  set 
it  at  rest  by  exclaiming  as  he  caught  sight  of  my 
face,  "  Joe  Jefferson,  by  thunder  ! "  There  was  a 
general  surprise  at  this  unexpected  remark,  and 
I  was  quite  startled,  though  I  confess  somewhat 
pleased,  at  a  recognition  in  this  strange  land.  Of 
course  I  rose  to  a  high  premium  now  in  the  eyes 
of  the  passengers,  and  was  deputed  to  interrogate 
my  friend  as  to  the  latest  news  from  the  seat  of 
war;  but,  like  a  true  Yankee,  he  was  n't  to  be 
pumped  without  filling  his  own  bucket  at  the 
same  time. 


278  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"My  friend,"  said  I,  "  as  you  seem  to  recognize 
me,  perhaps  you  will  kindly  give  us  some  news  of 
the  war."  He  answered  this  question  by  asking 
me  how  long  it  was  since  he  saw  me  act  in  New 
York  with  Laura  Keene.  I  told  him  about  six 
years,  but  that  I  would  be  very  much  obliged  if 
he  would  give  me  the  latest  news  concerning 
Richmond. 

"  Where's  old  Ned  Sothern  now?  "said  he  to 
me.  I  was  between  the  two  belligerents,  who  were 
both  writhing  in  agony  at  the  cool  delay  of  my 
new-found  acquaintance.  I  told  him  that  Mr. 
Sothern  was  in  England,  but  that  I  really  could 
not  answer  any  more  questions  until  he  told  me 
something  about  the  war. 

"  Is  he  actin'  old  Dundreary  now  before  the 
Britishers  ?  "  said  he.  Finding  I  could  get  no  sat- 
isfaction from  him,  I  turned  to  the  captain  and 
said  :  "  You  had  better  interrogate  this  man  your- 
self. Perhaps  you  will  be  more  fortunate  than  I 
have  been." 

Here  the  captain  broke  in,  hailing  him  with, 
"  My  friend,  I  am  the  captain  of  this  ship,  and 
would  like  to  get  a  paper  from  you  concerning  the 
war,  as  you  don't  seem  to  be  very  communicative 
yourself." 

"Will  your  ship  want  calkin',  Captain,  before 
she  loads  ?  "  said  the  impenetrable  calker  —  for 
that,  it  seemed,  was  his  profession. 

"  You  don't  calk  my  ship,  or  have  anything  to 
do  with  her,  until  you  answer  my  question,"  said 
the  captain. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  279 

The  man  now  became  thoughtful,  and,  I  pre- 
sume, turning  over  in  his  mind  that  he  might 
lose  a  job  if  he  did  not  comply,  said,  "  Oh  !  the 
war  —  that  's  all  over;  the  South  caved  in,  and 
Richmond  is  took." 

The  crestfallen  gentleman  from  South  Carolina 
sank  upon  a  stool  in  the  middle  of  the  deck,  and 
the  lively  gentleman  from  Massachusetts  danced  a 
hornpipe  over  him,  whistling  "  The  Star-spangled 
Banner"  as  an  accompaniment. 

That  part  of  the  Pacific  coast  that  borders  on 
South  America  is  an  interesting  region,  though  the 
title  of  Pacific  is  somewhat  of  a  misnomer,  for  the 
locality  is  in  a  continual  state  of  commotion,  both 
civil  and  military  ;  and  when  the  occasional  visita- 
tions of  tidal  waves  and  earthquakes  are  added  to 
the  human,  or  rather  inhuman,  turmoil  that  con- 
stantly rages  through  this  feverish  land,  the  trav- 
eler is  more  anxious  to  bid  it  farewell  than  ever 
again  to  tax  its  hospitality. 

The  town  of  Callao  has  always  been  singularly 
unfortunate  during  these  external  and  internal  dis- 
turbances. Situated  in  a  somewhat  exposed  har- 
bor, it  presents  a  fine  mark  for  bombardment  in 
times  of  war,  and  a  convenient  spot  for  the  passage 
of  a  tidal  wave  in  times  of  peace.  It  is  said  that 
on  a  quiet  moonlight  night  some  hundred  years 
ago,  while  the  inhabitants  were  innocently  slumber- 
ing and  not  dreaming  of  disaster,  one  half  the 
town,  having  no  desire  to  disturb  the  repose  of  the 
other  half,  slipped  quietly  away  from  its  foundation 
and  slid  gently  into  the  bay.  I  was  told  that  some 


280  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

distance  out  in  the  harbor,  when  the  tides  were  ex- 
tremely low,  the  roofs  of  the  submerged  houses 
and  the  spires  of  the  old  Spanish  cathedral  could 
be  seen  beneath  the  clear  waters  of  the  bay.  We 
got  into  the  boat  of  the  custom-house  officer,  who 
directed  the  men  to  row  us  to  the  shore,  and  as  we 
landed  we  discovered  that  the  town  was  in  a  wild 
state  of  commotion.  Soldiers  and  policemen  hurry- 
ing from  the  barracks  and  station-houses,  broken- 
pated  rioters  under  the  escort  of  guards,  and  a 
general  stampede  of  frightened  women  and  children, 
made  up  an  animated  but  rather  unattractive  picture 
for  the  entertainment  of  peaceful  strangers.  In  the 
midst  of  this  excitement  there  appeared  upon  the 
scene  an  old  man  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  attended  and 
arrested  by  at  least  a  good  half-dozen  policemen, 
who  were  hurrying  him  along  to  prison. 

I  was  afterwards  told  that  the  disturbance  and 
arrest  had  grown  out  of  an  attack  upon  two  Chil- 
ians by  some  Peruvians,  and  that  the  former  had 
fled  to  the  house  of  the  French  consul,  M.  Valrie, 
who  had  protected  them  and  offered  the  defense- 
less parties  a  sanctuary  on  his  premises.  A  mob 
had  collected  about  the  place,  and  when  the  consul 
came  out  to  ask  their  patience  till  a  proper  inquiry 
could  be  made,  the  rioters  became  incensed  ;  and 
at  his  offering  protection  to  the  Chilians  the  unruly 
crowd  attacked  the  old  man,  who,  seeing  himself 
dangerously  surrounded,  snatched  a  sword  from 
the  hand  of  one  of  his  assailants,  and  clearing  a 
circle  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  fought  his  way  out 
amid  a  shower  of  stones  and  sticks.  The  scene  as 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  281 

it  stood  when  we  came  upon  the  ground  was  ani- 
mated and  dramatic. 

As  we  arrived  in  front  of  the  jail,  the  policemen 
had  unloosened  their  tight  hold  on  the  consul,  who 
stood  calm  and  unruffled,  with  his  arms  folded  and 
with  a  look  of  utter  contempt  at  the  mob ;  the 
blood  streaming  from  an  ugly  gash  in  his  fore- 
head had  stained  his  white  hair,  which  seemed  to 
stand  up  defiantly.  The  expressive  features  of  the 
old  man  had  a  fine  aristocratic  cut,  and  contrasted 
strongly  with  the  low-browed,  swarthy  Peruvians 
who  surrounded  him.  They  hissed  their  anger  at 
him  and  brandished  their  sticks  and  knives  about 
his  head ;  but  the  resolute  look  from  his  clear  blue 
eye,  and  the  quiet  smile  on  his  pale  face,  told  of 
the  supreme  satisfaction  he  felt  as  he  gazed  in 
triumph  at  the  well-battered  heads  of  the  enemy, 
and,  old  as  he  was,  but  few  would  have  liked  to 
trifle  with  him  upon  even  ground. 

I  have  mentioned  this  little  incident  as  I  after- 
wards became  intimate  with  this  interesting  old 
gentleman,  and  had  some  curious  experiences  with 
him. 

I  consulted  the  list  of  departures,  and  found 
that  I  could  not  possibly  leave  for  Panama  inside 
of  ten  days ;  so,  with  the  rest  of  the  passengers, 
I  determined  to  spend  that  time  in  Lima.  This 
city  was  founded  by  Pizarro  in  the  year  1535,  and 
a  magnificent  cathedral  built  by  him  still  stands  in 
the  center  of  the  plaza.  Through  each  one  of  the 
principal  streets  of  Lima  flows  a  clear  stream  of 
water.  Pizarro  had  viaducts  constructed  from  the 


282  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

foot  of  the  Andes  for  the  purpose  of  running  these 
useful  sewers  through  the  city.  It  is  a  bright  and 
sparkling  place.  The  ladies  are  considered  the 
most  beautiful  in  the  world,  while  the  men  are 
the  most  insignificant.  My  South  Carolina  friend 
was  particularly  susceptible  to  female  beauty,  and, 
being  unable  to  restrain  his  enthusiasm,  would 
start  back  as  every  new  and  beautiful  face  pre- 
sented itself:  pausing  suddenly  and  grasping  me 
by  the  arm,  he  would  point  at  some  lovely 
beauty,  and  go  off  into  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 
Many  of  them  would  veil  their  faces,  while  their 
cavaliers  would  look  stilettos  at  my  enthusiastic 
friend. 

The  South  American  cities  are  extravagant  in 
the  use  of  gas,  and  Lima  at  night  is  brilliantly 
illuminated.  There  was  a  French  comic-opera 
troupe  at  the  theater,  so  we  wended  our  way  in 
that  direction.  The  crowd  was  great,  and  we 
had  difficulty  in  procuring  seats,  which  at  last  we 
accomplished  by  paying  high  prices  to  the  spec- 
ulators. The  dress  circle  is  reserved  entirely  for 
ladies,  who  have  their  open  private  boxes  which 
encircle  the  whole  tier.  They  never  go  into  the 
parquet,  so  that  part  of  the  house  was  filled  with 
gentlemen,  and,  as  the  curtain  fell,  they  all  got 
out  their  opera-glasses,  and,  turning  around,  began 
surveying  the  beauties  in  the  circle.  This  is  the 
custom;  it  is  not  considered  rude;  on  the  con- 
trary, the  fair  ones  expect  it,  and  prepare  their 
toilets  to  meet  the  demands  of  this  masculine 
scrutiny.  If  we  were  struck  with  the  handsome 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  283 

ladies  on  the  plaza  in  the  daytime,  what  was  our 
amazement  at  the  fascinating  scene  before  us  as 
we  stood  with  our  backs  to  the  curtain  and  gazed 
in  wonder  at  the  audience !  The  circle  was  ablaze 
with  beauty,  the  black  eyes  of  the  senoras  and  the 
senoritas  vying  in  brilliancy  with  the  diamonds  in 
their  raven  hair.  Their  toilets  were  exquisite  — 
flowing,  gauzy  silks  in  pale  pink,  blue,  white,  and 
amber ;  light  and  delicate  fans  waved  with  a  grace 
only  to  be  accomplished  by  those  who  have  Cas- 
tilian  blood  in  their  veins.  A  Frenchwoman  is 
graceful  and  knows  it,  but  a  Spanish  woman 
is  graceful  and  does  n't  know  it.  There  is  such 
a  difference  in  the  effect  of  this  !  The  extraor- 
dinary part  of  the  sight  was,  that  hunt  where 
you  would,  there  was  no  discovering  a  plain 
face  —  nothing  but  beauty.  These  bewitching 
sirens  have  a  lovely  olive  complexion,  tinged 
with  deep  carmine,  singularly  white,  pearly  teeth, 
and  eyes  so  deep  and  black  that  I  said  to  myself: 
"  Oh,  Father  O'Grady,  it  was  lucky  for  the  little 
Sydney  maiden  that  you  did  n't  stop  in  Lima  on 
your  way  to  Australia."  The  good  St.  Anthony 
himself  could  never  have  withstood  such  glances 
as  were  here  revealed. 

Just  before  the  end  of  the  opera  it  is  customary 
for  the  senors  to  vacate  the  parquet  and  station 
themselves  in  a  long  line  to  watch  these  lovely 
creatures  pass  out ;  and  as  they  move  slowly 
through  the  line  of  admiring  gentlemen  they 
begin  to  undulate  those  fascinating  fans  that 
almost  speak,  and  bow  and  smile  so  sweetly 


284  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

that  everybody  seems  to  be  making  love  to 
everybody  else. 

After  the  opera  we  walked  through  the  Grand 
Plaza.  The  majestic  old  cathedral  of  San  Fran- 
cisco loomed  up  grandly  in  the  dark  night.  The 
rich  stained-glass  windows  were  illuminated,  and 
a  dismal  peal  from  the  organ,  accompanied  by  a 
low,  wailing  chant  from  the  monks,  told  that 
a  midnight  funeral  service  was  being  held.  The 
body  was  laid  out  in  front  of  the  altar,  with  kneel- 
ing friends  and  relatives  about  it.  The  dirge  was 
in  Latin,  and  was  chanted  in  a  minor  key,  pro- 
ducing an  awful  effect,  and  one  that  I  should  think 
would  be  anything  but  consoling  to  those  who  are 
left  to  mourn  the  dead.  I  never  saw  a  funeral 
service  at  night  before,  and  the  contrast  just  after 
the  merriment  of  the  opera  was  very  striking. 
In  the  morning  (it  being  a  fast  day)  we  went  to 
the  same  church  to  hear  mass.  The  outside  of 
the  cathedral  had  a  cheap  and  tawdry  appear- 
ance in  the  daylight,  resembling  theatrical  scenery 
under  the  same  circumstances.  The  plastering, 
broken  and  decayed,  was  painted  a  pinkish  yel- 
low ;  the  doors  and  windows  blue  and  green ;  the 
ironwork  and  figures  were  gilded  with  cheap  Dutch 
metal  —  giving  the  whole  building  the  tone  of  a 
decomposed  Christmas  cake. 

On  entering  the  church  our  ears  were  saluted 
by  a  magnificent  orchestra  playing  the  overture  to 
"  Masaniello."  There  are  no  pews  in  this  cathe- 
dral ;  the  great  open  space  in  the  center  is  flagged 
with  stones,  and  hundreds  of  people  were  on  their 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  285 

knees  at  prayer ;  a  motley  group  composed  of  all 
grades  of  society  —  native  Peruvians,  half-castes, 
and  pure  Spanish,  all  mixed  together.  A  lame  old 
mendicant,  with  his  feet  swathed  in  bandages  and 
his  crutches  by  his  side,  was  groveling  on  the  pave- 
ment, possibly  asking  relief  from  agonizing  pain ; 
farther  on  was  a  little  market  girl  with  a  basket  of 
flowers  in  her  hand ;  between  these  knelt  a  stately 
and  beautiful  senora  in  rich  and  costly  black  lace, 
her  raven  hair  done  up  with  a  jeweled  comb,  and 
sparkling  gems  in  her  ears  and  upon  her  fingers. 
This  seemed  to  me  the  pure  democracy  of  religion. 
Out  of  the  church  these  people  had  their  different 
spheres ;  their  roads  in  life  were  widely  separated  ; 
but  here,  where  they  prayed  to  God,  they  seemed 
to  be  upon  a  common  level,  and  the  lady  and  the 
beggar  offered  up  devotions  side  by  side. 

After  breakfast  we  walked  out  into  the  court- 
yard, and  there  I  saw,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
a  beggar  on  horseback  —  not  the  proverbial  fellow 
who,  having  suddenly  come  into  a  fortune,  bestrides 
a  prancing  steed  and  goes  galloping  over  the 
heads  of  his  old  comrades,  but  a  beggar  mounted 
on  his  own  charger.  He  got  down  from  his  sad- 
dle, and,  taking  off  his  sombrero,  walked  slowly 
and  in  a  cringing  sort  of  way  from  one  point  to 
another,  asking  alms.  He  had  a  villainous  walk, 
and  shambled  along  with  a  halt  first  in  one  leg  and 
then  in  the  other,  almost  dragging  his  unshapely 
limbs  after  him,  his  shoulders  dropped  and  his  face 
turned  up  with  a  hypocritical  smirk  upon  it;  but 
with  all  his  fawning,  his  snake-like  eyes  had  a 


286  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

searching,  eager  look  that  seemed  to  charm  the 
unwilling  charity  out  of  the  guests,  and  upon 
receiving  each  donation  he  would  roll  up  his  eyes 
and  invoke  a  benediction  on  the  giver.  Nobody 
wanted  to  give  him  anything,  yet  most  of  them 
did ;  our  group  was  disgusted,  and  declined  to  be 
blessed  on  this  fellow's  terms,  at  which  he  gave  us 
a  look  not  at  all  resembling  a  prayer,  and  most 
threatening  in  its  aspect.  After  browbeating  most 
of  the  bystanders  out  of  their  money  he  coolly  sat 
down  to  count  it,  and  then,  without  the  slightest 
look  of  gratitude,  lighted  his  cigarette,  mounted 
his  horse,  and  rode  leisurely  away. 

I  was  naturally  curious  to  find  out  something 
about  this  fellow,  and  in  a  conversation  with  the 
landlord  learned  that  there  were  many  of  his  class 
living  on  the  outskirts  of  Lima.  It  seems  they  are 
a  kind  of  half-beggar  and  half-brigand  people,  and 
prowl  about  at  night  in  the  dark  streets  near  the 
edge  of  the  town,  begging  from  strangers.  They 
seldom  commit  murder,  but  have  a  way  of  terrify- 
ing their  prey  into  submission ;  the  one  we  saw 
was  especially  bold,  plying  his  trade  in  the  open 
day.  Their  victims  generally  think  it  better  to  give 
something  and  so  quietly  get  rid  of  them. 

After  I  had  been  about  a  week  here  my  old  New 
York  friend,  the  calker,  who  had  hailed  me  on  my 
arrival,  called  on  me,  as  he  said,  to  talk  over  old 
times ;  not  that  we  had  ever  met  in  America,  but, 
as  he  put  it : 

"Don't  you  know  when  a  fellow  in  a  foreign  land 
sees  another  fellow  from  the  same  place  he  's  from, 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  287 

he  kinder  wants  to  pump  him  out,  don't  you 
know  ?  " 

"Pump  him  out"  I  naturally  presumed  was  a 
technical  phrase  of  his  profession,  being  an  opera- 
tion to  which  a  ship  is  subjected  previous  to  calk- 
ing. I  asked  him  if  I  was  right  in  my  surmise. 
"Quite,"  said  he;  "you  are  watertight  on  that 
point." 

"Have  you  been  long  in  South  America?"  I 
said. 

"  What 's  become  of  Laura  Keene  ?  "  he  replied. 

From  my  past  experience  I  saw  that  he  was  go- 
ing to  do  all  the  pumping,  so  I  quietly  submitted. 
He  began  asking  the  whereabouts  of  the  actors 
that  had  played  in  "Our  American  Cousin."  He 
seemed  to  have  treasured  their  names  as  if  they 
had  been  old  friends.  I  wondered  at  this,  and 
thinking  I  might  venture  on  a  question,  asked  him 
why  he  was  so  anxious  to  know  all  about  them. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  the  actors  a  fellow  sees  in  his 
young  days,  don't  you  know,  he  never  forgets, 
though  he  has  never  spoken  to  'em.  He  seems  to 
kinder  know  'em.  Why,  I  could  go  on  and  tell  you 
the  names  of  all  the  old  companies  for  years  back 

—  at  Wallack's,  Burton's,  and  even  way  off  in  the 
days    of    Mitchell's    Olympic.      Blake,    Chanfrau, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.   Barney  Williams,  Charles  Walcott 

—  yes,  and  a  hundred  more.     They  seem  like  old 
friends  to  me."     Here  he  paused  for  a  moment,  as 
if  calling  up  some  old  theatrical  memories.     At  last 
he  seemed  to  wake  up,  and  said,  in  a  mysterious 
way,   "Did  you  ever  see  a  'fandango'?" 


288  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"No,"  I  said;   "what  is  it?" 

"  Well,  it  's  a  place  where  Spanish  girls  sing  and 
dance,  and  play  the  guitars  and  castanets.  The 
company  is  kinder  mixed,  and  it  's  a  leetle  danger- 
ous sometimes." 

I  told  him  the  latter  part  of  the  programme 
would  certainly  have  no  attraction  for  me. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  there  Js  one  thing  in  Callao  I 
want  you  to  see ;  it 's  the  Spanish  theater.  I  shan't 
tell  you  what  it 's  like ;  but  you  won't  regret  go- 
ing, for  it  's  the  darnedest,  queerest  theatrical  per- 
formance you  ever  saw  or  ever  will  see." 

I  was  now,  naturally,  interested,  and  went  with 
him  that  evening  to  Callao,  six  miles  from  Lima, 
to  visit  the  Spanish  theater.  We  got  seats  in  the 
dress  circle,  where  we  could  have  a  good  look  at 
the  entertainment  and  the  audience.  The  cheap 
part  of  the  house  was  quite  full.  In  the  pit  there 
were  entire  families  of  men,  women,  and  half-grown 
children.  They  appeared  to  be  quite  respectable, 
but  very  hilarious.  The  place  was  filled  with 
smoke,  the  cigarettes  being  plied  with  great  vigor 
in  every  direction.  The  performance  opened  with 
a  farce.  There  was  little  or  no  dialogue,  but  plenty 
of  practical  fun.  The  characters  seemed  to  be  in 
a  continual  state  of  excitement,  suffering,  and  ter- 
ror. A  man  with  a  white  face  would  go  up  the 
chimney  and  come  down  black,  a  baby  was  thrown 
out  of  a  window,  and  an  old  lady  burned  her  hus- 
band with  a  red-hot  poker.  The  audience  were 
very  much  amused  at  this,  and  I  noticed  that  their 
glee  was  at  its  height  when  any  one  suffered  physi- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  289 

cal  pain.  After  this  performance  came  Spanish 
dancing  of  an  excellent  kind,  full  of  graceful  poses 
and  not  at  all  vulgar.  The  dancing  was  followed 
by  instrumental  music  and  singing. 

As  I  traced  the  plot  of  the  next  play  through  the 
action  I  discovered  it  to  be  "  The  Prodigal  Son," 
illustrated  by  dialogues  and  tableaux.  The  parting 
of  the  father  with  his  boy  was  exceedingly  well 
done,  and  many  of  the  audience  were  in  tears. 
The  temptation  scene  at  Memphis,  where  the 
prodigal  gambles  and  is  lured  away  by  beautiful 
women,  was  well  acted  and  realistic.  Then  came 
the  return  of  the  prodigal,  which  ended  the  play. 

I  fancied  that  now  the  entertainment  was  over, 
but  the  alert  calker  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm,  say- 
ing with  earnest  meaning,  "  Wait  a  minute." 

The  theater  was  darkened,  the  cigarettes  were 
put  out,  and  a  solemn  hush  went  up  from  the  audi- 
ence. The  place  was  as  still  as  death.  The  peo- 
ple almost  stopped  breathing.  I  seemed  to  be  the 
only  one  who  did  not  know  what  was  coming. 
Now  there  came  a  low  moan  of  anguish,  as  if  from 
a  great  distance ;  so  expressive  of  sorrow,  and  yet 
so  gentle  we  could  scarcely  hear  it.  An  invisible 
organ  began  a  solemn  dirge,  and  as  the  curtain 
rose  there  before  me  was  Mount  Calvary  with  a 
complete  tableau  of  the  crucifixion,  the  whole  scene 
represented  by  living  figures  —  Christ  upon  the 
cross,  the  two  thieves,  and  a  group  of  female  figures 
kneeling  upon  the  ground.  I  was  startled  at  this 
unexpected  sight,  but  I  saw  at  once  by  the  rever- 
ence of  the  audience,  and  the  earnest  manner  in 


290  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

which  the  tableau  was  given  and  received,  that  no 
sacrilege  was  intended.  On  the  contrary,  the  be- 
holders were  devout :  some  were  on  their  knees  ; 
men  were  praying,  women  were  weeping,  and 
nearly  all  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  bowed 
their  heads.  I  was  transfixed  with  wonder  as  I 
looked  upon  the  scene.  In  the  distance  there  were 
dark  and  ominous  clouds,  streaked  at  the  horizon 
line  with  a  blood-red  color  as  the  sun  was  going 
down.  The  walls  of  the  distant  city  were  dimly 
visible,  and  against  this  dark  mass  the  three  weird 
crosses  stood  out  with  a  bright  light  shining  upon 
them.  The  patient  anguish  of  Christ  was  wonder- 
fully represented  in  the  upturned  face,  while  the 
heads  of  the  two  thieves  hung  down  in  abject,  grov- 
eling misery.  The  contrast  was  marvelous,  and 
the  terrible  grief  of  the  women  stretched  out  in 
agony  upon  the  ground  was  full  of  reality.  The 
curtain  slowly  fell  as  the  organ  pealed  out  a  solemn 
hymn,  and  the  audience  rose  and  left  the  theater 
with  a  quiet,  noiseless  step,  as  if  they  were  going 
from  church. 

Here  is  a  subject  that  at  once  opens  up  a  field 
for  thought  and  discussion.  The  religious  tableau 
that  I  saw  in  Callao  is,  undoubtedly,  the  same  one 
given  at  the  close  of  the  Passion  Play  in  Ober-Am- 
mergau,  which  thousands  of  devout  Christians  as- 
semble to  witness.  They  pay  for  their  admission, 
and  look  upon  the  exhibition  with  no  other  feeling 
than  that  of  reverence ;  yet  if  the  same  picture  were 
presented  here  by  the  same  people  the  audience 
would  be  shocked  and  distressed.  And  this  is  be- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  291 

cause,  in  the  first  place,  we  naturally  feel  the  influ- 
ence of  the  country  we  happen  to  be  in,  and  imbibe 
sympathetically  the  sensations  of  those  who  sur- 
round us.  In  the  foreign  lands  we  know  that  time 
and  custom  have  made  it  with  them  a  sincere  and 
holy  illusion ;  whereas  if  this  entertainment  were 
sprung  suddenly  upon  us  here  it  would  give  great 
offense,  because  we  should  recognize  that  the  sub- 
ject was  merely  a  catchpenny.  It  is  the  motive, 
therefore,  which  renders  the  same  act  religious  or 
sacrilegious  ;  and  what  is  perfectly  right  in  Bavaria 
or  South  America  would  not  be  tolerated  in  Eng- 
land nor  in  the  United  States.  But  I  saw,  from 
witnessing  the  impression  of  this  performance  on 
the  ignorant  minds  of  people  who  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  how  effectively  the  Church  in  the 
olden  time  must  have  used  the  drama  as  a  mode 
of  illustrating  religious  history. 

No  rain  ever  falls  in  Lima.  A  heavy  mist  settles 
upon  the  city  just  before  daylight  and  hangs  like  a 
pall  over  the  place.  About  ten  o'clock  the  sun 
breaks  forth,  quickly  dispelling  the  misty  veil  as 
if  touched  by  a  fairy  wand.  The  sky  in  an  instant 
becomes  azure  blue,  and  the  atmosphere  so  bright 
and  transparent  that,  as  you  look  at  the  far-off 
Andes,  the  crevices  of  the  mountains  are  as  clearly 
defined  as  if  you  were  viewing  them  through  an 
opera-glass.  The  gaudily  painted  shops  and 
dwelling-houses,  and,  above  all,  the  bright-colored 
walls  and  steeples  of  the  churches,  are  crude  and 
offensive  when  you  are  close  to  them,  but  viewed 
in  the  distance  the  effect  is  very  different. 


292  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

There  is  an  antique  bridge  of  quaint  Spanish 
architecture  some  three  miles  from  the  city, 
through  which  falls,  or  rather  tumbles,  a  cataract 
of  foaming  water.  Standing  on  this  structure  and 
looking  back  on  the  city  at  sunset,  the  rich  colors 
melt  into  each  other  with  the  most  ravishing  gra- 
dations. Above  the  red-tiled  roofs  of  the  old 
houses  rise  the  innumerable  tall,  gray  towers  and 
gilded  spires  of  the  different  churches.  They 
seem  to  flash  in  the  sunlight  and  stand  out  clearly 
against  the  deep-green  background  of  tropical 
foliage  that  skirts  the  base  of  the  Andes.  These 
lovely  mountains  rise  one  above  another,  melting 
from  deep  green  to  blue  and  purple.  The  peaks, 
full  six  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  are 
capped  with  snow,  glowing  pink  and  golden  against 
the  clear  blue  sky. 

Nothing  can  exceed  the  brilliancy  of  this  tropi- 
cal city.  The  costumes  of  the  people  are  very 
picturesque.  The  ladies  wear  no  hats,  but  wind 
about  their  heads  and  shoulders  a  graceful  scarf 
called  the  rebozo.  This  is  passed  across  the  face, 
leaving  only  one  eye  of  the  lady  exposed.  Whether 
this  is  done  to  preserve  the  complexion,  or  to  give 
a  coquettish  air  to  the  wearer,  I  do  not  know,  but 
the  effect  is  full  of  mystery  and  romance.  The 
children  dress  precisely  like  the  grown  people. 
Little  senoritas  six  or  eight  years  old  wear  the 
"rebozo,"  and  peep  their  one  little  eye  out  in  quite 
a  comical  way,  and  the  boys  go  about  in  black 
swallow-tail  coats  and  high  silk  hats,  looking  like 
so  many  General  Tom  Thumbs. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  293 

The  streets  swarm  with  lottery  offices,  and  the 
hawkers  stop  you  in  the  plaza,  or  waylay  you  at 
the  corners,  offering  tickets  for  sale.  Gambling 
is  the  besetting  sin  of  the  country.  Men,  women, 
and  children  of  all  grades  indulge  in  this  passion. 
In  the  quiet  summer  evenings  it  was  delightful  to 
walk  by  the  dwellings  and  pause  to  look  in  at 
the  courtyards.  Many  of  these  are  illuminated 
and  decorated  with  fountains  and  with  orange 
trees  bearing  fruit  and  blossom  at  the  same  time ; 
senors  and  senoritas  swinging  in  hammocks,  smok- 
ing cigarettes,  and  playing  their  guitars.  It  was  a 
very  dreamland  of  romance. 

Since  I  was  there  this  lovely  city  has  been 
desolated  by  war.  The  majestic  churches  and 
beautiful  homes  have  been  battered  down  by 
the  armies  of  Chili,  the  proud  people  subjugated, 
and  the  whole  country  of  Peru  laid  in  waste  and 
ruin. 

We  sailed  from  the  port  for  Panama  early  in 
August.  On  our  second  day  out  I  recognized  the 
old  French  consul  at  Callao.  He  and  his  wife 
were  promenading  the  deck  arm  in  arm,  their 
little  son  clinging  affectionately  to  his  father's 
hand.  To  my  surprise  the  consul  stopped  me, 
and,  offering  me  his  hand,  exclaimed :  "  Ah,  Mon- 
sieur Jefferson,  permettez-moi.  I  have  known  you 
exceedingly  very  often.  I  was  been  consul  in 
Sydney  when  you  arrive  zer  four  times  a  year 
ago  ! "  He  introduced  me  to  his  wife,  who  was  an 
exceedingly  bright,  witty  little  lady,  and  as  my 
agent  spoke  French  fluently,  we  made  the  trip 


294  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

through  the  tropics  the  more  agreeable  by  an  in- 
terchange of  civilities  and  ideas. 

It  was  fortunate  that  my  agent  was  a  good 
interpreter,  for  if  in  his  fracas  with  the  Peruvians 
M.  Valrie's  head  had  been  as  badly  broken  as  his 
English,  he  never  would  have  left  South  America 
alive.  He  and  his  wife  and  his  son  were  bound  up 
in  one  another's  love.  The  lad  was  not  more  than 
twelve  years  of  age,  quite  young  to  be  the  son  of 
such  an  elderly  couple,  and  he  seemed  to  be  the 
sunlight  of  their  lives.  He  would  often  pat  his 
father's  hand  and  kiss  his  mother's  cheek  in 
the  warmth  of  his  affection,  and  at  such  times  the 
old  people  would  glance  first  at  the  child  and  then 
at  each  other,  as  though  they  were  saying,  "Was 
there  ever  such  a  boy  as  ours  ? "  One  could  not 
look  at  this  Arcadian  trio  without  shuddering  at 
the  thought  that  their  happiness  came  so  near 
being  destroyed  by  a  ruthless  mob  of  South 
American  ruffians,  whose  whole  lives  were  not 
worth  one  drop  of  the  blood  they  would  have  shed. 
M.  Valrie,  like  all  his  countrymen,  was  devoted 
to  the  drama  and  the  opera.  As  I  had  been  in 
France,  and  was  familiar  with  the  acting  of  the 
favorite  comedians,  we  would  compare  notes  as  to 
our  opinion  of  the  reigning  favorites  of  the  French 
stage.  He  delighted  in  these  conversations,  some- 
times wandering  off  in  imagination  to  the  Opera 
Comique,  singing  the  overtures  to  "Zampa"  and 
"  Fra  Diavolo  "  all  out  of  tune,  and  giving  imita- 
tions of  some  of  the  noted  actors,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  grimacing  to  the  delight  of  us  all. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  295 

At  such  times  it  was  curious  to  contrast  this  inno- 
cent, vivacious  little  man  with  the  calm  and  digni- 
fied consul  whom  I  had  seen  behave  so  courageously 
when  in  the  hands  of  the  rioters,  and  difficult  to 
realize  that  it  was  the  same  person. 

The  moon  shines  with  great  brilliancy  in  the 
tropics,  and  when  the  Pacific  is  on  its  good  behav- 
ior the  long,  low  swells,  as  smooth  as  glass,  reflect 
great  streaks  of  light  in  fantastic  shapes  across 
their  surface  with  splendid  effect.  During  these 
glorious  nights  our  little  party  would  sit  out  on 
the  deck  of  the  steamer,  humming  old  tunes  and 
keeping  time  with  the  beat  of  the  machinery,  and 
generally  finishing  the  evening  with  a  game  of 
whist,  the  agent  and  Madame  against  the  consul 
and  me.  The  French  are  bad  whist-players,  and 
surely  M.  Valrie  was  a  champion  in  this  respect ; 
he  never  would  return  my  lead,  and  whenever  I 
took  a  trick  he  would  trump  it  triumphantly  if  he 
could. 

"My  dear  M.  Valrie,"  I  would  say,  "  why  trump 
it?  the  trick  was  already  ours." 

"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  "  he  would  exclaim  ;  "  how 
treacherous  I  am !  Ah,  well !  we  bos  take  him  ter- 
gezzar,  so  we  make  sure  of  him,  eh  ?  it  is  always 
ze  same  t'ing." 

A  singularly  interesting  old  gentleman  called  to 
see  me  while  I  was  acting  in  Australia.  He  had 
been  in  the  colonies  for  a  number  of  years.  His 
early  life  had  been  passed  in  the  society  of  actors, 
and  his  memory  of  the  celebrities  of  the  theatrical 
profession  was  quite  remarkable.  He  knew  the 


296  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Kembles,  Mrs.  Siddons,  Jack  Bannister,  and  Ellis- 
ton  intimately.  He  had  witnessed  the  O.  P.  riots 
and  Kean's  first  night  in  London.  As  he  had  a 
rich  fund  of  theatrical  anecdotes,  I  was  charmed  to 
cultivate  his  acquaintance.  We  passed  many  hours 
together,  walking  and  chatting  in  the  Botanical 
Gardens,  and  in  these  rambles  I  gleaned  from  him 
much  of  the  unwritten  history  of  the  English  stage 
during  the  reign  of  George  the  Fourth. 

I  mentioned  to  him  that  I  was  about  to  visit 
England  by  way  of  South  America.  "  Then," 
said  he,  "you  will  pass  through  Panama?"  I  told 
him  that  I  should  do  so.  He  became  very  much 
agitated,  and  said :  "  My  young  friend,  I  have  a 
dear  daughter  living  in  that  city.  She  is  the  wife 
of  an  English  merchant.  I  have  not  seen  her  for 
fifteen  years.  My  only  child !  God  knows  how  I 
have  longed  to  look  upon  her  dear  face  again. 
Will  you  not  see  her,  and  tell  her  that  we  have 
met?  I  know  that  she  will  feel  anxious  to  hear  of 
her  old  father.  We  are  separated  by  thousands  of 
miles,  and  shall  never  meet  again  upon  this  earth, 
but  it  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  me  if  you  will  let 
me  know  that  you  will  bear  her  this  message." 

He  gave  me  the  name  and  direction  of  the  mer- 
chant, and  I  promised  him  faithfully  that  I  would 
see  the  old  man's  daughter  when  I  passed  through 
Panama. 

On  my  arrival  there  I  felt  much  pleased  to  think 
that  I  should  possibly  see  the  daughter  of  my  old 
Tasmanian  friend  and  bear  to  her  the  loving  mes- 
sage of  her  father.  I  detest  the  tropical  cities,  and 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  297 

have  always  been  miserable  until  I  could  get  out 
of  them,  with  the  single  exception  of  Lima.  The 
humid  atmosphere,  filled  with  the  rank  odor  of 
vegetation,  the  sweltering  heat,  the  lazy  and  inan- 
imate inhabitants  —  all  combine  to  make  one 
restless  and  unhappy.  So  it  was  a  comfort  to  con- 
template an  approaching  sensation  of  a  domestic 
character.  Besides,  there  was  a  touch  of  the  dra- 
matic in  the  prospect  of  telling  a  long-lost  daughter 
of  her  long-lost  father,  and  I  quite  felt  my  heart 
beat  as  I  approached  the  house  of  the  English  mer- 
chant. The  name  on  the  door  was  quite  correct, 
and,  in  accordance  with  the  old  gentleman's  direc- 
tion, I  rang  the  bell  and  sent  in  my  card  by  a  warm, 
red-faced  footman,  who  returned  and  ushered  me 
into  the  presence  of  his  master.  The  gentleman 
remained  seated  as  I  entered,  and  seemed  to  be 
looking  directly  over  my  head.  The  day  was  broil- 
ing hot,  but  the  coolness  of  this  reception  seemed 
to  lower  the  temperature  at  least  twenty  degrees. 
I  had  entered  the  house  with  some  agitation,  so  I 
confess  that  this  unexpected  freezing  rather  discon- 
certed me.  The  man  sat  bolt  upright  in  his  chair 
at  a  writing-desk.  The  conventional  English  frock- 
coat  was  conventionally  buttoned  from  the  waist 
to  the  breast  (and  that,  too,  with  the  thermometer 
at  a  hundred)  ;  a  starched  white  cravat  (nothing 
could  have  melted  on  this  gentleman),  a  great  par- 
rot nose,  drooping  eyelids,  together  with  a  crisp 
and  bristling  head  of  gray  hair,  completed  the  pic- 
ture of  the  stiffest  piece  of  humanity  I  had  ever 
seen.  There  was  a  pause. 


298  T^E   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


"Well,"  said  he,  "what  is  it  ?  I  don't  know 
you  ?  " 

I  was  so  enraged  at  the  whole  proceeding  that 
I  was  going  to  reply  that  if  he  kept  on  looking 
two  feet  over  my  head  the  probability  was  that  he 
never  would  know  me  ;  but  I  restrained  myself,  and 
merely  replied  that  I  had  a  message  for  his  wife 
from  her  father  in  Tasmania.  He  looked  as  dead 
and  unmoved  at  this  as  if  he  had  not  heard  me  at 
all,  and  apparently  addressing  the  footman,  but 
with  his  eyes  still  directed  over  my  head,  said, 
"Show  this  person  up-stairs  and  inform  your 
mistress." 

He  took  his  eyes  from  the  wall  and  began  to 
examine  some  papers  with  that  kind  of  earnestness 
that  seemed  to  say,  "  I  don't  want  any  remarks 
from  any  one  on  any  subject  whatever  ;  go  away 
at  once,  and  oblige  me  by  not  returning."  His 
manner  admitted  of  no  appeal,  so  I  followed  the 
man,  and  was  ushered  into  a  large,  gloomy  apart- 
ment where  he  left  me  to  announce  my  visit  to  her 
ladyship.  In  the  tropics  all  the  dwellings  are  closed 
tightly  against  the  light,  so  as  to  render  them  cool 
during  the  heat  of  the  day  ;  but  surely  this  was 
the  darkest  room  that  I  had  ever  seen,  and  when 
I  entered,  having  just  come  out  of  the  bright 
glare  of  the  street,  the  objects  in  it  were 
scarcely  visible,  and  only  revealed  themselves  one 
by  one.  Little  sharp  streaks  of  yellow  sunlight 
forced  themselves  through  the  closed  window- 
blinds,  and  gradually  I  discovered  that  the  walls 
were  dead  white  ;  not  a  picture  or  ornament  of 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  299 

any  kind  hung1  upon  them ;  there  was  no  carpet  on 
the  floor,  and  the  only  articles  for  use  were  a  half- 
dozen  of  those  uncomfortable  and  inhospitable 
mahogany  chairs  covered  with  dismal  black  hair- 
cloth, and  a  long  sofa  made  of  the  same  mournful 
material.  The  high  backs  of  this  unfriendly  furni- 
ture were  stiff  and  straight,  or  perhaps  inclined  a 
little  forward,  as  though  they  were  designed  to  tip 
the  visitor  gently  out,  the  smooth  hair-seats 
rather  assisting  in  the  process.  I  fancied  that  the 
grizzly  ogre  of  this  gloomy  place  kept  his  young 
and  lovely  wife  a  kind  of  prisoner  here,  and  tor- 
tured her  with  these  unsympathetic  surroundings ; 
and  if  this  were  so,  I  thought  how  her  heart  would 
beat  and  her  eyes  fill  with  tears  as  she  listened  to 
one  who  bore  a  father's  blessing  to  his  child,  and  I 
blamed  myself  for  not  having  written  just  a  line  to 
prepare  her  for  my  visit  that  she  might  have  time 
to  recover  from  the  shock,  for  I  felt  now  that  the 
meeting  might  be  embarrassing  to  both  parties.  I 
was  working  these  thoughts  in  my  mind  when  the 
door  of  the  adjoining  room  opened  slowly  and  her 
ladyship  appeared. 

She  was  dressed  in  white,  and  as  she  glided 
slowly  into  the  dark  room  one  would  almost  have 
fancied  she  was  a  ghost.  Her  figure  was  tall  and 
graceful,  and  her  bearing  aristocratic  and  self- 
possessed. 

I  was  standing  when  she  entered,  and  as  she 
seated  herself  upon  the  sofa  she  motioned  me  to  a 
chair  without  speaking  a  word.  I  was  disappointed 
in  her  cold  and  stately  manner,  for  her  temperature 


300  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was  quite  as  low  as  her  husband's,  and  she  received 
me  if  possible  a  trifle  more  frigidly.  Her  face  was 
very  beautiful,  but  so  cold  and  quiet  that  I  felt 
nothing  short  of  a  domestic  communication  could 
melt  such  a  piece  of  marble. 

In  a  few  words  —  for  I  was  really  anxious  to  get 
out  of  the  place  —  I  told  her  that  I  bore  an  affec- 
tionate message  to  her  from  her  father. 

"  Oh,  indeed.  Poor  father !  I  hope  he  is  quite 
well  ?  May  I  offer  you  some  luncheon  ?  " 

I  could  no  more  have  swallowed  a  morsel  in  that 
house  than  I  could  have  embraced  the  master  of  it. 
The  face  of  her  father  rose  up  before  me.  I  called 
to  mind  the  tears  in  his  eyes  and  the  trembling- 
emotion  of  his  voice  when  he  spoke  of  his  only 
daughter,  and  I  thought  how  years  ago  that  fond 
old  man  had  perhaps  looked  forward  to  the  birth 
of  his  child,  and  when  it  came  into  the  world  how 
he  had  taken  it  in  his  arms  with  loving  care  and 
attended  its  early  life ;  and  now,  in  his  old  age, 
thousands  of  miles  away,  with  his  heart  still  yearn- 
ing to  see  her,  she  sat  there,  cold  and  impassive, 
receiving  his  loving  message  with  chilling  indiffer- 
ence. I  could  stay  no  longer,  and  rose  to  depart. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  I  came  here  to  deliver  a  mes- 
sage with  which  I  was  charged,  and  fancied  that 
the  nature  of  it  might  give  you  some  pleasure ; 
but  I  feel  satisfied  that  I  have  unintentionally  been 
intruding." 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  but  it  sounded  so  much  like 
"yes"  that  I  took  up  my  hat  and  bowed  myself 
out. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  301 

The  hot  and  narrow  streets  of  the  town  were  an 
agreeable  change  after  the  freezing  I  had  just  gone 
through,  and  I  was  only  too  glad  to  get  out  of  this 
charnel-house.  I  do  not  know  nor  can  I  tell  to 
this  day  the  cause  of  my  unlooked-for  reception. 
At  first  it  crossed  me  that  perhaps  the  father  had 
committed  some  crime,  and  that  they  were  ashamed 
of  him  ;  but  when  I  recalled  his  simple,  honest  face 
I  felt  how  unjust  were  my  suspicions ;  so  I  could 
therefore  only  conclude  that  it  was  the  natural  aus- 
terity of  the  merchant  and  his  wife. 

It  is  over  twenty  years  since  the  little  incident  I 
have  just  narrated  took  place,  and  if  this  cheerful 
couple  are  still  alive  I  do  not  envy  them  the  many 
hours  of  stately  misery  they  must  have  passed  in 
each  other's  society. 

I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  Panama.  Our  party, 
consisting  of  my  son,  a  friend  from  Australia  who 
was  now  acting  as  my  agent,  and  myself,  crossed 
the  Isthmus,  and  took  an  English  mail  steamer  from 
Colon  to  Southampton,  passing  through  the  group 
of  West  India  Islands,  touching  at  St.  Thomas  and 
Jamaica,  and  arriving  in  London  about  the  middle 
of  June,  1865. 


CHAPTER  XI 
IN  LONDON 

The  New  "Rip  Van  Winkle"— English  Rela- 
tives —  John  Brougham  —  Tom  Robertson  — 
Artemus  Wa rd 

ON  my  arrival  in  London  I  met  Dion  Bouci- 
cault.     He  asked  me  if  I  intended  to  act  ; 
I  told  him  that  I  certainly  did  if  I  saw  an 
opening  offering  a  fair  chance  of  success. 
"  What  material  have  you  got  ?  "  said  he. 
I  replied  that  I  had  a  great  part  in  an  indiffer- 
ent play,  "  Rip  Van  Winkle." 

Boucicault  did  not  seem  to  fancy  the  selection, 
thinking  the  subject  stale,  but  we  talked  the  mat- 
ter over  and  soon  came  to  terms.  He  undertook 
to  rewrite  the  drama  for  a  consideration  agreed 
upon  between  us.  He  never  seemed  to  think 
much  of  his  own  labor  in  this  play ;  but  I  did,  and 
do  still,  with  good  reason. 

While  the  work  was  in  progress  I  made  an  en- 
gagement with  Benjamin  Webster  to  act  the  part 
at  his  theater,  the  Adelphi.  I  sent  to  America  for 

302 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  303 

my  three  other  children  to  join  me  in  London,  and 
took  up  my  abode  at  No.  5  Hanover  Street,  Han- 
over Square.  It  was  generally  supposed  that  four 
years  of  success  in  Australia  had  enabled  me  to 
return  home  a  millionaire.  Quite  a  mistake,  I  as- 
sure you.  Not  poor,  certainly,  but  not  rich  ;  just 
in  the  condition  that  is  most  desirable  for  all ; 
neither  too  poor  nor  too  rich,  with  something  to 
give  one  security  in  case  of  accident,  constant  em- 
ployment, and  a  moderate  income.  Less  than  this 
may  be  inconvenient  at  times ;  more  than  this  is 
a  nuisance.  But  I  must  stop  writing  speculative 
philosophy  and  stick  to  facts,  or  I  shall  turn  from  a 
biographer  into  a  lecturer. 

The  play  was  finished  in  due  time,  and  a  day 
was  set  for  reading  it  to  the  company.  The  time 
arrived,  and  I  hastened  to  the  theater  with  some 
anxiety,  for  I  am  always  attacked  with  a  nervous 
fit  when  I  am  to  meet  a  new  assemblage  of  actors 
and  actresses.  I  cannot  get  over  the  feeling,  and 
to  this  day  it  is  the  same.  I  of  course  had  expected 
both  Boucicault,  the  author,  and  Webster,  the  man- 
ager, to  meet  and  assist  at  the  reading,  but  when 
I  got  to  the  theater  I  found  letters  from  both,  say- 
ing that  they  could  not  attend.  There  seems  to 
have  been  an  old  feud  between  Webster  and  Bouci- 
cault, and  I  presume  they  did  not  desire  to  meet; 
so  I  read  the  play.  Among  the  actors  who  were 
present  at  the  reading  was  Paul  Bedford.  The 
name  of  this  cheery  old  man  is  scarcely  known  in 
this  country  except  among  professionals  who  have 
been  abroad,  but  in  England  it  is  cherished  with 


304  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

much  affection.  He  had  been  a  member  of  the 
Adelphi  company  for  forty  years,  perhaps  longer ; 
he  sat  opposite  to  me  during  the  reading,  and  was 
an  attentive  and  sympathetic  listener. 

When  I  came  to  the  entrance  of  Nick  Vedder  in 
the  opening  scene,  "  Ah,  that  's  me,  my  lad ;  that  Js 
me,"  said  he. 

He  chuckled  over  the  humor  of  the  play,  and  at 
times  he  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes  as  the  pathos 
of  the  language  moved  him.  "  I  say,  my  lad," 
said  he,  "I  'm  told  there  is  twenty  years  to  elapse 
between  the  third  and  fourth  acts?"  ''Yes,"  I  re- 
plied. "Well,  I  ain't  alive  then,  am  I?"  "No, 
Mr.  Bedford,"  said  I ;  "  you  are  cut  off  in  the  flowrer 
of  your  youth."  "What,  die  in  the  first  act? 
Good  !  "  And  so  he  went  on  with  a  running  fire  of 
fun  altogether  at  variance  with  good  discipline. 

Mr.  Billington,  who  was  to  act  in  the  play,  and 
who  was  considered  an  authority  in  such  matters, 
said,  "There  's  a  hundred  nights  in  that  play;  am 
I  right,  Paul  ?  "  To  which  Bedford  replied,  quot- 
ing from  his  old  character  of  Jack  Gong,  "  I  believe 
you,  my  boy  "  ;  and  then,  taking  me  by  the  hand, 
he  said  with  marked  solemnity,  "  My  transatlantic 
kid,  I  welcome  you  to  the  classic  precincts  of  the 
royal  Adelphi." 

While  the  play  was  in  rehearsal  I  was  desirous 
that  Boucicault  should  see  how  I  had  arranged  the 
business  of  the  scene,  as  I  knew  that  his  judgment 
and  opinion  upon  what  I  had  done  would  be  of 
value,  and  would  serve  to  strengthen  the  effects. 
So  it  was  arranged  that  a  full  rehearsal  of  the  play 


PAUL     BEDFORD. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  305 

and  the  scenery  should  take  place  on  the  Monday 
preceding  its  production,  and  that  he  was  to  be 
present. 

With  my  portion  of  the  work  he  seemed  well 
pleased,  but  during  the  setting  of  the  scenery  some- 
thing went  wrong  ;  nothing  of  very  great  impor- 
tance, I  fancy,  or  I  think  I  should  remember  the 
details  of  it.  It  was,  however,  enough  to  start  him 
off,  and  in  a  rage  he  roundly  abused  the  theater 
and  its  manager.  As  I  before  mentioned,  he  and 
Mr.  Webster  had  been  at  variance  for  some  months. 
The  latter  gentleman  was  hot-tempered  and  highly 
sensitive.  Previous  to  my  arrival  in  London  he 
and  the  author  had  been  quarreling  and  wrangling 
over  their  respective  rights  and  wrongs.  Mr.  Bouci- 
cault,  now  that  an  opportunity  offered  of  his  speak- 
ing his  mind  before  Mr.  Webster's  company, 
launched  forth  against  the  manager,  the  theater, 
and  its  misrule  with  great  energy.  He  denounced 
the  whole  establishment,  spoke  of  his  own  experi- 
ence on  that  stage,  and  likened  the  present  to  the 
former  imbecility  of  management  to  which  he  had 
been  subjected,  and  so  revenged  himself  on  the 
absent  manager  by  holding  him  up  to  scorn  before 
the  actors.  After  the  rehearsal  was  over,  and  the 
enraged  author  had  departed,.  I  found  that  the  com- 
pany were  very  indignant  at  Boucicault's  abuse  of 
their  absent  chief.  Mr.  Phillips,  the  stage-mana- 
ger, took  me  aside  and  told  me  that  he  feared 
much  trouble  would  arise  from  the  scene  that  had 
just  taken  place ;  and  to  my  surprise  informed  me 
that  Webster,  knowing  that  Boucicault  would  be 


306  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

present,  was  there  himself,  concealed  behind  the 
curtains  of  a  private  box,  where  he  had  heard  the 
whole  affair.  Webster  was  very  bitter  when  trans- 
formed into  an  enemy ;  and  I  can  imagine  the 
furious  glare  that  must  have  been  in  his  fierce  eyes 
as  he  listened  to  the  abuse  of  Boucicault,  who, 
quite  innocent  of  his  presence,  had  been  thus  de- 
nouncing him.  If  ever  there  was  an  occasion 
when  listeners  heard  no  good  of  themselves,  surely 
it  was  on  that  memorable  morning.  I  was  about 
leaving  the  theater  in  quest  of  Mr.  Webster  when 
the  call  boy  handed  me  a  note  from  him.  It  was 
short,  but  entirely  to  the  point ;  it  referred  in  no 
very  complimentary  terms  to  the  scene  that  had 
just  taken  place  and  to  the  author  of  it,  and  con- 
cluded by  saying  that  he  could  not  allow  any  play 
of  Mr.  Boucicault's  to  be  acted  in  his  theater. 
Here  was  an  unexpected  check.  I  at  once  asked 
where  I  could  find  Mr.  Webster,  and  was  told  that 
he  had  gone  home.  I  got  the  address  and  jumped 
into  a  cab,  making  a  hot  pursuit  after  the  irate  man- 
ager. Mr.  Webster  lived  upon  the  Surrey  side,  I 
think ;  I  know  that  we  passed  the  celebrated  old 
madhouse  of  Bedlam  on  our  way.  But  bridges, 
steeples,  and  madhouses  almost  merged  into  one 
during  this  exciting  ride,  so  far  as  my  mind  was  con- 
cerned; for  I  had  looked  upon  the  approaching  Mon- 
day night  as  the  most  important  professional  one  of 
my  life,  and  I  was  not  going  to  have  my  golden  op- 
portunity snatched  from  me  without  a  struggle. 

As  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  in  which  he 
lived,  I  saw  that  the  old  manager  had  arrived  and 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  307 

was  striding  up  the  steps  of  his  house  ;  his  hat  was 
firmly  set  on  his  head,  and  the  very  back  of  his 
coat  seemed  to  be  in  a  rage.  He  entered,  and  I 
followed  close  upon  him.  The  old  housekeeper 
admitted  me  and  took  my  card.  She  said  that  her 
master  had  just  gone  up-stairs  ;  and  at  that  moment 
I  heard  a  door  bang  with  an  angry  thud  that 
echoed  through  the  old  house  like  the  ominous 
thunder  that  precedes  a  storm.  The  place  had  a 
bare  and  lonely  look,  being  scantily  furnished  and 
very  dusty.  The  old  housekeeper,  who  was  scant 
of  breath,  came  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  beck- 
oned me  up.  When  I  reached  the  landing  she 
pointed  rather  timidly  towards  a  side  door,  and 
said  to  me  cautiously  and  in  an  undertone,  "  That 's 
his  den,  as  he  calls  it."  I  thought  the  name  most 
appropriate  just  at  the  present  time  ;  I  felt  there 
would  be  a  scene,  but  there  was  nothing  left  except 
to  have  it  out.  I  knocked  at  the  den,  and  the  lion 
growled,  "  Come  in  !  "  I  opened  the  door,  and  — 
enter  Daniel.  The  old  manager  was  quite  pale, 
and  if  he  were  then  not  in  a  towering  rage,  the 
effects  of  one  were  plainly  visible  upon  his  angry 
face.  His  gray  eyes,  wonderfully  expressive, 
snapped  with  the  reaction  of  temper  ;  and  his  black 
wig  —  one  of  those  unmistakable  articles  with  a 
hard  parting  on  one  side  and  a  strong  tendency  to 
get  away  from  the  back  of  the  head  —  had  got 
awry,  and  this  gave  him  anything  but  a  reconcili- 
atory  appearance.  We  had  a  long  and  stormy 
scene.  Of  course  he  was  not  unreasonable  enough 
to  blame  me,  but  his  opinion  of  the  whole  affair  was 


308  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

delivered  in  language  more  tinged  with  billingsgate 
than  "  choice  Italian."  I  told  him  that  any  inter- 
ruption of  my  opening  would  be  very  injurious  to 
me ;  that  the  play,  scenery,  and  actors  were  even 
now  fully  prepared  for  action ;  that  I  felt  quite  sure 
of  myself  in  the  part,  as  I  had  already  played  it 
with  success  in  the  old  version ;  and  that  to  inter- 
rupt the  present  arrangement  was  to  imperil  my 
future.  He  suggested  that  we  should  discard 
Boucicault's  play  and  substitute  the  old  version. 
To  this  I  answered  nay,  explaining  to  him  that  not 
only  was  Boucicault's  play  infinitely  superior  to  the 
old  one,  but  that  I  had  made  my  agreement  with 
the  author,  and  it  must  be  kept.  I  insisted  that  I 
would  not  submit  to  act  the  Mercutio  in  the  matter, 
and  so  fall  because  of  a  quarrel  between  the  Mon- 
tagues and  the  Capulets,  and  finished  by  showing 
him  that  it  might  be  disastrous  to  his  season  to 
throw  aside  a  good  play  ready  for  production  and 
trust  to  chance  to  fill  up  the  vacancy.  He  began 
at  last  to  see  the  matter  in  the  light  in  which  I  had 
placed  it,  and  withdrew  his  objections,  though  with 
much  reluctance. 

My  approaching  appearance  was  the  important 
dramatic  event  of  my  life.  I  had  been  five  years 
from  America,  and  was  on  my  way  home,  and  I 
felt  satisfied  that  if  this  new  version  of  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle"  succeeded  in  London,  my  way  was  quite 
clear  when  I  returned  to  the  United  States. 

On  Sunday  evening,  being  alone  in  my  lodg- 
ings, I  got  out  for  my  own  admiration  my  new 
wig  and  beard  —  the  pride  of  my  heart  —  which 
I  was  to  use  in  the  last  act.  I  could  not  resist 


BENJAMIN     WEBSTER. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  309 

trying  them  on  for  the  twentieth  time,  I  think; 
so  I  got  in  front  of  the  glass  and  adjusted  them 
to  my  perfect  satisfaction.  I  soon  became  en- 
thused, and  began  acting  and  posing  in  front  of 
the  mirror.  In  about  twenty  minutes  there  came 
a  knock  at  the  door. 

-Who's  there?  "said  I. 

"  It 's  me,  if  you  please,"  said  the  gentle  but  agi- 
tated voice  of  the  chambermaid.  "  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  replied ;  for  I  had  no  desire  to 
be  seen  in  my  present  make-up. 

"  Is  there  anything  wrong  in  the  room,  sir  ? " 
said  she. 

"  Nothing  at  all.     Go  away,"  I  replied. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  continued,  "there  's  a  police- 
man at  the  door,  and  he  says  as  'ow  there  's  a 
crazy  old  man  in  your  room,  a-flingin'  of  his  'arnds 
and  a-goin'  on  hawful,  and  there  's  a  crowd  of 
people  across  the  street  a-blockin'  up  the  way." 

I  turned  towards  the  window,  and  to  my  horror 
I  found  that  I  had  forgotten  to  put  down  the 
curtain,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  London  was  taking  in  my  first  night. 
I  had  been  unconsciously  acting  with  the  lights 
full  up,  to  an  astonished  audience  who  had  not 
paid  for  their  admission.  As  I  tore  off  my  wig 
and  beard  a  shout  went  up.  Quickly  pulling  down 
the  curtain,  I  threw  myself  in  a  chair,  overcome 
with  mortification  at  the  occurrence.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  comical  side  of  the  picture  presented 
itself,  and  I  must  have  laughed  for  half  an  hour.  I 
had  been  suffering  from  an  attack  of  nervous  dys- 
pepsia, consequent  upon  the  excitement  of  the  past 


310  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

week,  and  I  firmly  believe  that  this  continuous  fit 
of  laughter  cured  me. 

On  Monday,  September  5,  I  made  my  first 
appearance  before  a  London  audience,  and  was 
received  with  a  cordial  welcome.  The  play  of 
"  Rip  Van  Winkle "  was  entirely  new  to  the 
English  public,  and  its  success  secured  for  it 
a  run  of  one  hundred  and  seventy  nights.  The 
company  worked  with  a  good  will  and  never 
flagged  in  their  energy. 

After  I  had  been  acting  a  short  time  in  London 
I  received,  to  my  surprise,  the  following  letter : 

HACKNEY,  September  30,  1865. 

DEAR  SIR:  Somewhere  about  the  year  1801  an  uncle  of 
mine,  bearing  your  name  and  belonging  to  your  profession, 
went  to  America. 

On  seeing  the  announcement  of  your  appearance  at  the 
Adelphi  I  was  naturally  curious  to  know  if  you  were  a  distant 
relative  of  mine  or  not.  My  wife  and  I  sat  in  the  front  of  the 
theater  last  night,  and  when  you  came  upon  the  stage  we  were 
quite  certain  that  you  had  the  honor  of  being  my  first  cousin. 
My  father,  Lieutenant  Frank  Jefferson,  commanded  the  queen's 
yacht  at  Virginia  Water  —  you  may  have  heard  of  him.  I  am 
the  father  of  an  English  family,  in  comfortable  circumstances,  so 
you  need  not  be  alarmed  lest  you  should  have  stumbled  upon 
a  batch  of  poor  relations,  and  if  you  will  dine  with  us  next 
Sunday  we  shall  be  glad  to  give  our  Yankee  cousin  a  hearty 
cockney  welcome.  Under  any  circumstances  let  me  say  that 
it  gave  me  great  pleasure  to  see  a  face  from  a  far-off  country  so 
unmistakably  like  the  Jeffersons. 

My  wife  and  children  join  me  in  hoping  that  you  will  come. 

The  inclosed  diagram  and  address  will  show  you  how  to  find 
us.  We  dine  at  three  (not  fashionable  people,  you  see),  and  I  shall 
be  at  the  gate  on  the  lookout  for  you.  Yours  truly, 

TOM  JEFFERSON. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  311 

I  was  much  pleased  at  the  tone  of  this  letter, 
and  replied  that  I  was  undoubtedly  a  cousin  of 
his,  but  a  second  one,  as  his  uncle  was  not  my 
father,  but  my  grandfather;  writing  him  also  that 
I  would  join  his  family  party  on  the  following 
Sunday. 

Sure  enough,  he  was  at  the  gate;  and  as  he 
gave  me  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  I  looked  in 
his  face,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  my  father 
stood  before  me :  the  likeness  was  indeed  wonder- 
ful. His  wife  and  a  host  of  children  were  waiting 
inside,  and  they  received  me  right  royally. 

We  all  sat  down  to  dinner  —  roast  beef  and 
plum  pudding.  My  cousin  said  that  they  did  not 
usually  have  the  latter  dish  till  Christmas,  remark- 
ing that  he  looked  upon  it  as  a  national  institution, 
not  to  be  trifled  with,  and  that  I  must  feel  myself 
highly  complimented  at  being  treated  to  this  formi- 
dable article ;  but  as  he  knew  that  I  never  got 
anything  so  delicate  in  America,  my  enjoyment  of 
it  would  console  him  for  leaving  the  beaten  track. 

In  ten  minutes  the  ice  was  broken,  and  I  was 
one  of  the  family.  Of  course  I  had  a  thousand 
questions  to  answer  about  America,  and  my  glow- 
ing accounts  of  the  New  World  filled  the  boys 
with  a  desire  to  emigrate  at  once.  Tom  was  a 
wag,  and  told  the  youngsters  that  he  had  heard 
when  I  first  arrived  that  I  was  quite  black ;  but  a 
few  months'  sojourn  in  the  clear  atmosphere  of 
London  had  restored  me  to  the  natural  color  of  my 
ancestors,  at  which  the  little  ones  wondered  and 
the  big  ones  laughed. 


312  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

We  had  another  family  reunion  at  Christmas, 
when  all  the  Jeffersons  we  could  hunt  up  dined 
with  me  at  Verey's.  In  the  afternoon  the  whole 
party  went  to  Astley's  to  see  the  pantomime.  Of 
course  there  was  the  usual  crowd  about  the  doors 
that  always  assembled  during  this  festive  season  at 
the  theater.  I  was  elbowing  my  way  to  the  box 
office  for  the  purpose  of  purchasing  tickets,  when  I 
was  accosted  by  E.  T.  Smith,  the  manager. 

"  I  cannot  allow  you  to  buy  tickets,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  have  my 
family  with  me,  and  could  not  think  of  intruding 
them  on  your  good  nature." 

"  Your  family  —  take  my  box,"  said  he.  "  You 
are  quite  welcome.  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"There,"  I  replied,  pointing  to  the  group. 
"  Twenty-four  of  them." 

"  Twenty- four !  "  said  he,  aghast. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "and  as  they  are  not  profes- 
sionals, I  must  insist  on  buying  the  tickets.  All  I 
ask  is  your  good  offices  in  getting  us  seats  together." 

This  was  done,  and  in  the  center  of  the  theater 
sat  four-and-twenty  Jeffersons  "  all  in  a  row." 

If  there  is  one  thing  more  amusing  than  an  Eng- 
lish pantomime,  it  is  the  English  audience  that  go 
to  see  it.  Men,  women,  and  children  who  are 
intelligent  enough  on  ordinary  occasions  seem, 
under  the  influence  of  this  potent  spell,  to  lose  all 
control  of  themselves.  Before  the  curtain  rose,  the 
faces  in  front  were  expressive  and  even  thoughtful. 
But  when  the  entertainment  was  in  full  swing, 
all  sense  of  propriety  was  thrown  off. 


JOHN     HROUGHAM    AS     THE     "  C/GKADY "     IN     "ARRAH     NA     POGUE." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  313 

The  audience  were  carried  away  and  delighted 
beyond  measure,  and  swallowed  the  most  idiotic 
nonsense  with  one  broad  grin  that  seemed  to 
mantle  the  face  of  the  whole  house.  Shout  after 
shout  went  up  when  the  clown  sat  on  the  baby ; 
and  as  the  cockney  swell  appeared,  extravagantly 
conscious  of  his  own  dignity  and  charmed  by  the 
effect  of  his  personal  appearance,  the  heartless 
public  sat  in  eager  expectancy,  well  knowing  that 
some  disaster  was  about  to  befall  him ;  and  when  a 
half-barrel  of  flour  was  poured  upon  his  devoted 
head  they  would  burst  forth  in  the  most  boisterous 
manner.  Any  catastrophe  that  occurred  to  the 
police  was  always  hailed  with  delight.  Why  is  it 
that  these  guardians  of  our  safety  are  held  in  such 
contempt  theatrically  ?  When  a  double-dyed  vil- 
lain gets  his  quietus,  and  the  innocent  heroine  is 
restored  to  the  arms  of  the  first  walking  gentle- 
man, we  applaud  with  delight.  Surely  under 
these  circumstances  one  would  suppose  it  to  be  our 
duty  to  resent  any  affront  offered  to  the  "force"; 
but  no,  the  slightest  indignity  bestowed  upon  a 
virtuous  policeman,  such  as  the  emptying  of  a 
bucket  of  water  over  his  helmet,  seems  to  give  us 
joy. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  meet  with  some  of  the 
artists,  actors,  and  men  of  letters  in  London.  To 
sit  and  chat  with  renowned  people  that  I  had  heard 
of  from  boyhood  —  to  have  the  erratic  and  domi- 
neering advice  of  hot-headed,  kind-hearted  Charles 
Reade  pounded  into  one  ;  to  be  patted  on  the  back 
by  dear  old  Planche  ;  and  to  be  glared  at  through 


314  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  fierce  but  honest  spectacles  of  Anthony  Trol- 
lope,  was  a  treat  indeed.  I  had  come  unheralded 
and  unexpectedly  among  them,  and  they  made  me 
very  welcome. 

At  this  time  (1865-66)  Boucicault's  play  of 
"Arrah  na  Pogue"  was  in  the  height  of  its  well- 
merited  success  at  the  Princess's  Theater.  It  is 
one  of  the  best  of  the  Irish  sensational  dramas,  as 
they  are  styled,  though  to  my  mind  this  play  de- 
serves a  higher  title.  I  had  been  three  or  four 
months  on  the  ocean,  and  it  was  a  treat  to  see  a 
play  again,  particularly  so  good  a  one,  and  one 
mounted  with  such  excellent  taste  and  acted  so  ad- 
mirably. The  O'Grady  played  by  John  Brougham 
was  certainly  the  best  piece  of  acting  I  had  ever 
seen  at  the  hands  of  this  comedian.  The  character 
is  that  of  a  gay,  graceful  Hibernian  gentleman, 
full  of  wit,  good  spirits,  and  geniality ;  in  short,  it 
was  John  Brougham.  He  threw  a  jaunty  air  into 
the  part  that  gave  it  the  flavor  of  an  Irish  soldier 
of  the  last  century.  The  cunning  author  had  taken 
the  just  measure  of  the  actor  and  fitted  him  with  a 
character  that  the  artist  could  scarcely  get  out  of. 
I  have  never  thought  that  Brougham  was  a  great 
actor ;  that  he  was  a  pleasing  one  and  a  great  fa- 
vorite with  the  public  there  can  be  no  doubt,  but 
he  never  seemed  in  earnest.  He  invariably  acted 
a  part  as  though  it  were  a  joke.  But  his  handsome 
face  and  winning  manner  made  him  hosts  of  friends, 
and  they  liked  him  too  well  to  pass  critical  judg- 
ment upon  his  performances.  As  a  writer  he  made 
some  pleasing  additions  to  the  light  dramatic  liter- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  315 

ature  of  his  time.  "  Pocahontas  "  is  certainly  the 
wittiest  American  burlesque  that  has  been  written. 
His  table-talk  and  after-dinner  speeches  were  ever 
welcome,  and  his  presence  at  convivial  meetings 
was  much  enjoyed.  No  one  was  more  desired  at 
the  festive  board  than  "  Genial  John."  He  partic- 
ularly shone  in  addressing  the  audience  on  "bene- 
fit" occasions,  or  in  making  an  apology  to  them 
for  some  unavoidable  accident  that  had  occurred 
during  the  performance.  He  assuredly  had  much 
experience  in  these  matters,  for  during  his  manage- 
ment of  Brougham's  Lyceum,  afterwards  Wallack's, 
the  mishaps  were  quite  frequent.  His  easy  good 
nature  entirely  unfitted  him  for  the  duties  of  a  the- 
atrical conductor.  Discipline  and  order  were  not 
among  his  virtues  ;  he  lacked  the  forethought,  too, 
that  might  prevent  catastrophe,  and  the  firmness 
that  sets  things  right  when  they  happen  to  go 
wrong.  If,  however,  he  was  deficient  in  discipline, 
his  ready  wit  was  more  than  a  match  for  the  negli- 
gence of  his  company.  And  it  was  once  surely  put 
to  the  test  during  the  performance  of  "  Pocahon- 
tas." I  think,  however,  that  the  matter  I  shall 
speak  of  took  place  after  his  theater  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  elder  Wallack.  The  actress  who 
had  been  playing  the  leading  part  suddenly  left  the 
city,  having  accepted  an  engagement  in  Baltimore 
without  giving  notice  to  the  management.  No 
word  of  this  proceeding  reached  the  theater  till  a 
few  minutes  before  the  curtain  was  to  rise  on  the 
performance.  Of  course  for  some  minutes  there 
was  a  deadlock.  No  one  could  suggest  the  faint- 


316  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

est  remedy,  and  Brougham  was  nonplussed.  At 
last  he  went  in  front  of  the  curtain  and  explained 
the  situation.  He  confessed  he  was  at  his  wit's 
end, —  a  long  distance  for  him  to  travel, —  and 
really  did  not  know  what  to  do  unless  the  audience 
felt  disposed  to  accept  the  burlesque  of  "  Pocahon- 
tas  "  with  the  gentle  savage  omitted.  He  said  there 
was  an  old  theatrical  anecdote  setting  forth  that 
on  one  occasion  the  character  of  Hamlet  had  been 
so  wretchedly  acted  that  on  its  next  representation 
that  part  had  been  omitted  by  particular  request. 
"  Now  if  '  Hamlet '  can  be  acted  without  the  hero, 
why  may  not  *  Pocahontas '  be  played  without  the 
heroine?  You  all  know  that  Pocahontas'  is  a 
much  finer  play  than  '  Hamlet*;  and  if  you  do  not, 
I  do,  for  I  wrote  it  myself.  Will  you  permit  us  to 
make  the  experiment?  "  The  cries  of  "  Certainly," 
"  Go  on  ! "  were  so  encouraging  that  Brougham 
retired  amidst  applause  and  the  curtain  was  rung 
up.  The  burlesque  proceeded  admirably  until  the 
music  was  played  for  the  entrance  of  the  absent 
squaw.  The  audience  wondered  what  Brougham 
could  possibly  do.  He  was  acting  the  father,  Pow- 
hatan,  and  was  on  the  stage  awaiting  the  approach 
of  his  daughter.  He  immediately  addressed  the 
audience  somewhat  in  the  following  words :  "  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  that  is  the  sweet  strain  which  is 
supposed  to  bring  Pocahontas  on  the  stage ;  you 
are  aware  that  she  is  at  present  in  Baltimore,  and 
the  law  of  the  land  will  not  permit  a  Christian, 
much  less  a  savage,  to  be  in  two  places  at  once. 
You  can  yourselves  vouch  for  the  alibi ;  but  if  she 


T.    \V.    ROBERTSON. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  317 

were  here  she  would  say  — "  and  here  assuming 
the  look  and  tones  of  the  absentee,  Brougham  spoke 
her  part  first,  then  assumed  his  own  character,  and 
so  kept  up  the  dialogue.  The  audience  were  con- 
vulsed with  laughter  at  the  admirable  imitation, 
and  by  their  applause  acknowledged  that  Brougham 
had  outdone  himself  through  the  wit  with  which 
he  had  mastered  the  difficulty. 

Among  the  many  new  friends  I  made  in  Lon- 
don none  was  more  delightful  to  meet  than  Tom 
Robertson.  During  my  engagement  at  the  Adel- 
phi  he  was  writing  his  domestic  comedies  for  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  Theater,  then  under  the  manage- 
ment of  that  vivacious  actress  and  industrious  little 
manager  Marie  Wilton. 

Robertson's  plays  were  nearly  all  successful,  and 
deservedly  so  too,  for  they  contained  original  char- 
acters, bright  and  witty  dialogue,  and  were  entirely 
free  from  the  French  coarseness  that  had  character- 
ized so  many  of  their  predecessors.  All  honor  to 
the  memory  of  Tom  Robertson,  who  was  at  least 
among  the  pioneers  in  working  this  reformation  ; 
and  to  his  successors  too,  who  following  in  his 
wake  gave  to  the  public  musical  extravaganzas 
more  humorous  and  melodious  than  the  Parisian 
burlesques,  without  one  tinge  of  their  impertinent 
vulgarity ;  proving  incontestably  that  wit  and 
harmony  in  comic  opera  need  not  depend  for 
their  effects  upon  sensual  music  and  licentious 
libretto. 

Tom  Robertson  was  of  all  the  men  I  have  ever 
talked  with  the  most  entertaining.  His  descrip- 


318  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

tions  of  people,  performances,  and  incidents  that 
had  passed  before  him  during  the  early  portion  oi 
his  life  were  exceedingly  brilliant.  Events  that 
would  have  been  commonplace  when  described  in 
an  ordinary  way  were  so  colored  and  illumined  by 
his  vivid  imagination  that  they  became  intensely 
interesting.  At  No.  5  Hanover  Street,  Hanover 
Square,  Tom  usually  dined  with  me  once  a  week. 
He  was  perfectly  familiar  with  dramatic  literature 
and  discoursed  delightfully  upon  the  plays  of  the 
past.  Goldsmith  was  his  favorite  author,  whom 
he  considered  the  very  finest  and  purest  writer  of 
English  comedy  that  had  lived  during  the  last 
century ;  and  though  I  did  not  quite  agree  with 
him  in  this  idea,  he  said  much  that  strength- 
ened his  argument,  pointing  out  the  ingenious 
construction  of  his  plots,  the  unstrained  wit  of  his 
dialogue,  and  the  natural  conduct  of  his  characters. 
Robertson  came  to  my  dressing-room  one  night 
just  as  I  had  finished  acting,  and  asked  me  to 
go  with  him  to  Drury  Lane  to  see  the  last  two 
acts  of  "  Macbeth,"  then  being  played  at  that 
house.  We  arrived  at  the  theater  just  at  the 
opening  of  the  fourth  act,  and  ensconced  ourselves 
snugly  in  a  private  box.  It  seemed  that  matters 
had  gone  wrong  during  the  whole  play,  and  when 
mishaps  do  occur  in  the  earlier  scenes  of  a  drama, 
particularly  a  Shaksperean  one,  they  are  apt  to 
continue  to  the  end.  We  were  seated  well  back 
in  the  private  box  and  could  enjoy  the  tragedy 
without  being  observed,  which  as  it  happened 
was  quite  fortunate.  The  solemn  cave  scene 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  319 

opened  with  the  three  witches  at  their  ghastly 
work  about  the  caldron.  Mr.  Phelps,  as  Mac- 
beth, came  upon  the  stage  with  the  martial 
stride  and  dignity  that  characterized  this  excel- 
lent actor,  and  the  weird  sisters  summoned  their 
phantom  confederates  to  appear.  At  last  one  of 
the  apparitions  slowly  rose  to  the  surface  only 
to  disappear  suddenly  without  giving  Macbeth 
warning  or  receiving  any  himself;  there  was  a 
slight  crash,  but  nobody  was  hurt.  Next  came 
the  passing  by  of  the  six  ghostly  kings,  the  first 
one  of  whom  lost  his  crown,  and  in  stopping  to 
recover  it  was  run  down  by  the  other  five  mon- 
archs,  who  came  so  rapidly  upon  the  heels  of 
their  leader  that  the  several  dynasties  were  all 
in  a  heap,  creating  a  spiritual  revolution  that  fairly 
convulsed  the  audience. 

In  the  last  scene,  just  as  Mr.  Phelps  had  given 
orders  to  have  his  banners  hung  on  the  outer  wall, 
that  frail  edifice  gave  way  before  it  was  besieged, 
and  tumbled  the  king  of  Scotland  into  the  middle 
of  the  stage,  where,  with  uplifted  claymore  and  in 
a  sitting  posture,  he  presented  a  sight  of  harmless 
indignation  that  would  have  revenged  Macdufffo? 
the  murder  of  his  entire  family. 

I  have  no  idea  what  ever  became  of  the  tyrant 
after  this,  for  Tom  and  I  were  compelled  to  flee 
from  the  theater  and  seek  some  dark  alley  in  Drury 
Lane,  where  we  pounded  each  other  in  the  exuber- 
ance of  our  mirth.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
drollery  of  what  we  had  witnessed  except  Tom's 
description  of  it  the  next  day. 


320  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Artemus  Ward  arrived  in  London  just  as  I  was 
leaving  it.  He  brought  me  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  my  cousin  William  Warren.  I  was  much  im- 
pressed by  Ward's  genial  manner.  He  was  not  in 
good  health,  and  I  advised  him  to  be  careful  lest 
the  kindness  of  London  should  kill  him.  I  had 
never  seen  his  entertainment,  but  I  was  quite  sure 
from  what  I  had  heard  of  it  that  he  would  be  suc- 
cessful, and  told  him  so,  cautioning  him  to  give  only 
his  Sunday  evenings  to  his  friends,  and  on  no 
account,  in  his  delicate  state  of  health,  to  expose 
himself  after  his  entertainment  to  the  pernicious 
effects  of  a  London  fog.  But  he  was  weak,  and 
yielded  to  the  influence  of  his  many  admirers,  so 
his  career  was  brilliant  but  short.  He  had  that 
unfortunate  desire  for  the  second  round  of  applause 
that  is  so  fatal  to  the  health  and  position  of  an  actor. 

See  how  unfair  you  gentlemen  are  who  fancy 
that  you  are  the  friends  of  the  actor.  You  sit  quietly 
among  the  audience  during  the  whole  evening, 
enjoying  an  actor's  performance  and  resting  your- 
self at  the  expense  of  his  labor.  When  this  is  over 
you  are  thoroughly  recuperated  and  he  is  weary ; 
yet  you  ask  him  now,  when  he  needs  the  rest  that 
he  has  given  you,  to  sit  up  till  daylight — for 
what?  To  amuse  you  again. 

Artemus  Ward  died  not  many  months  after  his 
London  debut,  attended  to  the  last  by  Tom  Robert- 
son. A  strong  attachment  had  sprung  up  between 
them,  and  the  devotion  of  his  new-found  English 
friend  was  touching  in  the  extreme  and  character- 
istic of  Robertson's  noble  nature.  Just  before 


ARTEMfS    WARD. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  321 

Ward's  death  Robertson  poured  out  some  medicine 
in  a  glass  and  offered  it  to  his  friend.  Ward  said, 
"  My  dear  Tom,  I  can't  take  that  dreadful  stuff." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Robertson,  urging  him  to 
swallow  the  nauseous  drug ;  "  there 's  a  dear  fellow. 
Do  now,  for  my  sake ;  you  know  I  would  do  any- 
thing for  you." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  Ward,  feebly  stretching  out 
his  hand  to  grasp  his  friend's,  perhaps  for  the 
last  time. 

"I  would,  indeed,"  said  Robertson. 

"  Then  you  take  it,"  said  Ward. 

The  humorist  passed  away  but  a  few  hours 
afterwards. 

At  the  conclusion  of  my  London  engagement  I 
acted  in  Manchester,  playing  Rip  Van  Winkle  and 
a  new  part  in  "The  Parish  Clerk,"  a  beautiful  little 
drama  written  by  Dion  Boucicault.  The  piece  did 
not  succeed ;  partly  because  it  weakened  after  the 
second  act,  and  partly  in  consequence  of  my  failing 
to  hit  the  leading  character.  I  then  acted  in  Liver- 
pool, and  at  the  end  of  my  engagement  took  a  sail- 
ing vessel  (the  Sunrise)  and  embarked  for  New 
York.  This  was  considered  rather  a  romantic  idea 
by  my  friends ;  but  if  one  has  the  time,  I  do  not 
know  anything  pleasanter  than  a  clipper-ship  voy- 
age across  the  Atlantic  in  July. 


CHAPTER  XII 

EAST  AND  WEST 

Edwin  Adams —  The  Combination  System  — 
George  D.  Prentice  —  Tom  Glessing  again  — 
George  Holland —  "  The  Little  Church  Around 
the  Corner  "  —  Charles  Fechter 

ONE  of  the  first  to  call  on  and  welcome  me 
on  my  return  to  America  was  Edwin 
Adams.  He  had  acted  under  my  stage 
management  at  Baltimore  many  years  before  :  he 
first  came  to  me  almost  as  an  apprentice ;  step  by 
step  he  rose  from  the  ranks,  and  before  we  parted 
he  was  playing  the  heroes  of  the  stage  with  much 
promise.  During  the  time  I  had  been  in  Australia 
and  England  he  had  become,  as  he  expressed  it,  a 
"  war  star."  This  was  the  technical  term  given  by 
the  old  legitimate  stars  and  actors  to  satirize  those 
self-lighted  luminaries  who  had  flickered  during 
the  national  strife  and  who  had  gone  out  after  the 
cessation  of  hostilities.  The  claim  of  Adams,  how- 
ever, to  a  prominent  artistic  position  was  sufficiently 
strong  to  retain  its  hold,  and  I  found  him  enjoying 


322 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  323 

his  well-earned  success  among  other  fine  actors  of 
the  day.  The  animation  of  his  face,  the  grace  of 
his  person,  and,  above  all,  the  melody  of  his  voice, 
well  fitted  him  for  the  stage.  While  he  could  not 
be  fairly  called  a  great  artist,  he  was  something 
often  more  highly  prized  —  a  born  actor,  a  child 
of  nature  if  not  of  art,  swayed  by  warm  impulse 
rather  than  by  premeditation.  His  Enoch  Arden, 
so  far  as  the  character  is  related  to  the  stage,  was 
a  creation  entirely  his  own,  and  one,  too,  that 
touched  the  sympathy  of  his  audience.  As  a  man 
he  was  loving  and  beloved,  and  his  honest  hand 
was  ever  ready  with  its  charity.  I  regarded  him 
with  something  more  than  friendship ;  and  this  was 
natural,  for  I  had  known  him  when  he  was  a  youth, 
and  his  likeness  to  my  brother  in  character,  ex- 
pression, and  voice  was  quite  remarkable.  Their 
careers,  too,  were  singularly  alike  —  brilliant,  but 
brief.  Those  who  remember  them  both  will  recall 
the  strange  resemblance  that  existed  between 
Charles  Burke  and  Edwin  Adams.  They  never 
met. 

On  the  2Oth  of  December,  1867,  and  in  the  city 
of  Chicago,  I  was  married  to  my  second  wife,  then 
Miss  Sarah  Warren.  I  fancy  now  that  my  reader 
is  somewhat  alarmed  lest  I  should  pour  upon  his 
devoted  head  a  heavy  shower  of  matrimonial  intel- 
ligence ;  but  he  may  breathe  freely,  for  I  have  no 
intention  of  committing  such  an  impertinent  intru- 
sion. But  as  reticence  upon  this  subject  may  be 
misconstrued,  I  must  crave  permission  to  express 
my  reasons  for  sparing  him  the  infliction. 


324  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

If  I  dwell  lightly  upon  domestic  matters,  I  do  so, 
not  from  any  want  of  reverence  for  them,  but  from 
a  conviction  that  the  details  of  one's  family  affairs 
are  tiresome  and  uninteresting.  I  shall  endeavor, 
therefore,  to  subdue  any  rising  desire  I  may  feel  to 
descant  upon  the  wonderful  talents  of  our  children, 
as  it  is  quite  possible  that  we  may  take  more  inter- 
est in  them  than  the  public  do.  We  fond  parents 
are  in  the  habit  not  only  of  overrating  the  intelli- 
gence of  our  offspring,  but  also  of  recounting  to 
strangers  the  wonderful  remarks  that  "  so  astonish 
a  mother,"  and  in  our  innocence  fancy  that  those  to 
whom  we  relate  these  marvels  are  as  much  inter- 
ested in  them  as  ourselves,  when  in  truth  they  care 
little  about  them,  and  are  generally  bored  by  the  re- 
cital of  such  trifles.  Repeating  this  nonsense  not 
only  renders  us  ridiculous,  but  it  is  unfair  to  others, 
who,  out  of  mere  civility,  are  obliged  to  look  amazed 
and  to  appear  to  be  entertained. 

After  finishing  an  engagement  in  Chicago,  I 
decided  to  play  in  Detroit  and  other  cities  through- 
out Michigan  where  opera  houses  had  lately  been 
built;  but  as  there  were  no  stock  companies  at- 
tached to  these  new  places,  I  engaged  one  for  a 
short  season  to  travel  with  me.  In  Detroit  I  met 
Mr.  Windham,  who  was  acting  a  play  called  "The 
Lancers  "  there,  with  a  company  of  his  own.  These 
were  the  first  two  combinations  that  I  remember : 
there  may  have  been  others  before,  but  not  to  my 
knowledge ;  so  if  this  system  is  as  pernicious  as 
its  enemies  say  that  it  is,  I  fear  I  am  responsible 
for  assisting  in  this  new  departure  which  seems  to 


EDWIN    ADAMS. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  325 

have  worked  such  a  revolution  in  theatrical  mat- 
ters. Whether  the  present  system  will  be  hurtful 
or  beneficial,  time  alone  can  tell ;  I  think  it  will  be 
beneficial.  I  am  tolerably  conservative,  but  when 
I  cling  to  an  old  custom  it  is  not  for  the  reason 
that  it  is  old,  but  because  I  think  it  is  good.  Any 
change  that  offers  an  improvement — and  there  are 
few  that  do  not — we  gladly  welcome.  This  so- 
called  combination  system  has  occupied  so  much 
attention  lately,  and,  rightly  or  wrongly,  has  given 
rise  to  so  many  professional  discussions,  that  I  may 
be  pardoned  for  desiring  a  hearing  on  the  subject 
I  do  not  lay  claim  to  having  been  the  first  to  ex- 
plode this  theatrical  bombshell ;  but  certainly  if  any 
harm  comes  of  it  I  should  bear  some  of  the  blame, 
for  I  was  at  least  among  the  pioneers.  It  is 
natural,  then,  that  I  should  desire  to  defend  it ;  but 
in  so  doing  I  shall  lay  bare  both  sides  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  the  reader  must  judge  for  himself,  as  I 
fancy  most  readers  generally  do. 

The  conservative  element  within  us  always  ar- 
rays itself  against  any  fresh  movement,  seldom 
stopping  to  consider  whether  the  new  departure  is 
beneficial  or  hurtful.  I  remember  when  my  father 
had  his  flint-lock  gun  altered  to  the  new  percussion 
system  that  serious-looking,  iron-gray  old  sports- 
men shook  their  wise  and  melancholy  heads,  and 
hinted  that  they  had  thought  better  of  him.  One 
ancient  Nimrod  scratched  his  perfectly  round  con- 
ventional pate,  saying,  "  What  will  you  do  if  you 
get  out  of  caps  ?  "  This  intelligent  question  rather 
nonplussed  my  father;  and  the  old  sports  seemed 


326  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

relieved  to  think  that  the  punishment  for  his  rash 
step  would  soon  follow  the  crime,  forgetting  that 
as  the  demand  was  made  for  the  gun,  the  supply 
of  caps  would  follow  it  up.  The  breech-loader  met 
with  the  same  prejudice ;  and  ever  since  Galileo 
made  the  world  move,  discoverers  and  inventors 
have  been  persecuted.  It  was  quite  reasonable, 
therefore,  that  when  the  tide  of  the  "combination 
system"  set  in  condemnation  of  it  should  naturally 
follow.  That  there  are  two  serious  objections  to 
the  new  departure  must  be  admitted. 

First,  the  necessity  for  constant  travel  keeps  the 
actor  away  from  his  home  and  family  the  greater 
portion  of  the  year.  This  is  a  domestic  incon- 
venience that  is  to  be  regretted.  The  second  ob- 
jectionable feature  is,  that  as  in  many  cases  an  ac- 
tor plays  only  one  part  in  a  year,  he  gets  no  varied 
experience  in  his  profession,  and  is  apt  to  grow 
careless  in  his  performance  by  constant  repetition. 
But,  apart  from  this  consideration,  the  system  has 
been  an  artistic  and  commercial  success  beyond  all 
doubt;  and  the  agreeable  result — to  the  public,  at 
least — is  so  evident  that  it  seems  quite  unnecessary 
to  argue  in  favor  of  it.  I  will,  therefore,  only  point 
out  a  few  of  its  advantages. 

The  old  stock  companies  had  to  be  limited  to  a 
certain  number  of  actors,  who  were  compelled  to 
perform  in  a  multitude  of  plays  —  the  whole  round 
of  the  Shaksperean  drama,  old  English  comedies, 
Yankee  farces,  nautical  pieces,  and  pantomime ; 
and  at  times  the  cracked  voices  of  "  respectable 
utility"  and  second  old  men  "in  dismal  discord 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  327 

sang."  I  myself  well  remember  leading  the 
choruses  for  the  Seguin  company ;  where  I  led 
them  to  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea.  It  is  unrea- 
sonable to  suppose  that  any  stock  company  could 
do  full  justice  to  this  varied  bill  of  fare,  no  mat- 
ter how  efficient.  The  actors  were  in  many  in- 
stances among  the  best  I  ever  saw,  but  they  were 
very  often  not  adapted  to  the  parts  for  which  the 
manager  was  compelled  to  cast  them.  Under  the 
new  regime  a  Shaksperean  company  are  selected 
with  special  reference  to  the  plays  for  which  they 
are  required.  Thus  an  old  English  comedy  may  be 
cast  to  actors  whose  early  training  fits  them  to 
the  task.  For  domestic  dramas,  comic  operas,  and 
sensational  plays  actors  are  selected  whose  talents 
not  only  suit  the  particular  characters  for  which  they 
are  engaged,  but  whose  temperament  and  personal 
appearance  harmonize  with  them.  The  performers 
themselves  are  no  better  than  those  who  acted 
under  the  old  form  of  dramatic  government,  but  on 
the  principle  of  "  selection  "  a  more  perfect  unity 
has  been  evolved.  And  further,  the  vast  continent 
of  America,  with  its  wonderful  and  progressive 
cities  thousands  of  miles  apart,  seems  to  have  de- 
manded the  establishment  of  this  important  insti- 
tution. The  inhabitants  of  these  distant  places, 
having  fine  opera  houses,  enjoy  the  advantages  of 
seeing  the  same  plays  acted  by  the  same  compa- 
nies as  those  of  the  larger  cities.  If  they  can  afford 
and  appreciate  it,  then  they  deserve  it,  and  these 
entertainments  can  only  be  administered  by  the 
combination  system.  The  theatrical  profession  is, 


328  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  always  has  been,  in  a  transient  state,  but  it  is 
progressive ;  it  does  not  retrograde.  Actors  may 
not  be  any  greater  now  than  they  were  a  hundred 
years  ago,  but  the  systems  by  which  their  talents 
become  distributed  are  adapted  to  the  growth  of 
the  country.  What  new  invention  has  been  cast 
aside,  after  once  having  been  fully  approved,  to 
return  to  an  old  one  ?  I  cannot  remember  any. 
The  old-fashioned  tinder-box  is  used  now  only 
as  a  curiosity.  We  prefer  matches.  What  mid- 
night student,  however  poetic,  would  return  to 
the  penny  dip  after  he  had  once  tasted  the  delights 
of  his  first  gas  jet?  We  do  not  ride  in  a  stage- 
coach in  preference  to  a  modern  drawing-room 
car,  and  when  the  first  balloon  express  bears  us 
across  the  continent  we  shall  look  down  upon  the 
locomotive. 

In  Louisville  I  was  introduced  to  the  editor  of 
the  "Louisville  Journal,"  George  D.  Prentice, 
poet,  satirist,  journalist,  and  wit,  whose  caustic  par- 
agraphs and  frequent  serious  encounters  with  po- 
litical enemies  had  made  him  a  man  of  mark  in 
more  than  one  sense. 

When  I  met  Mr.  Prentice  his  fame  and  health 
were  both  declining,  and  he  was  just  on  the  eve  of 
resigning* his  control  of  the  "Journal"  into,  as  he 
said  himself,  younger  and  abler  hands.  His  recep- 
tion of  me  was  cold  and  formal ;  but  I  had  already 
been  warned  that  it  was  his  way,  so  of  course  I  was 
prepared  not  to  take  offense.  Besides  I  felt,  as  I 
had  no  business  matters  to  speak  of,  that  my  visit 
was  somewhat  of  an  intrusion.  Curiosity  to  see 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  329 

and  talk  to  a  remarkable  man  is  not  an  exceedingly 
high  motive,  and  I  deserved  no  warmer  greeting 
than  I  received. 

As  my  friend  and  I  entered  the  sanctum  Mr. 
Prentice  was  seated  at  his  desk.  He  had  an  ab- 
stracted look,  and  scarcely  moved  his  position 
till  I  was  introduced.  He  then  slowly  turned  his 
head,  and  regarded  me  without  an  expression  on 
his  face  that  denoted  the  slightest  interest.  He 
looked  a  picture  of  careworn  loneliness  that  might 
awaken  the  sympathy  of  any  considerate  man  —  a 
tall,  gaunt  figure  wrapped  in  a  faded  calico  dress- 
ing-gown ;  thin  black  hair,  streaked  with  gray,  and 
straggling  over  a  high  forehead  ;  black,  bushy  eye- 
brows, shading  a  pair  of  dull,  dreamy  eyes,  that 
seemed  to  have  lost  their  fire.  I  found  afterwards, 
however,  that  they  could  be  rekindled  at  the  short- 
est notice. 

After  a  few  frigid  civilities,  my  friend  suggested 
that  perhaps  Mr.  Prentice  might  enjoy  an  evening 
at  the  theater  during  the  week  that  I  was  to  act. 
He  replied  that  he  seldom  went  to  the  theater,  and 
that  acting,  unless  it  were  extremely  fine,  always 
bored  him.  This  was  not  a  cheering  remark,  cer- 
tainly, but  it  left  me  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  justice 
of  his  reputation  as  a  satirist.  With  a  hopeless 
endeavor  to  thaw  him  out  and  return  good  for  evil, 
I  ventured  to  remark  that  some  two  weeks  since  I 
had  dined  with  General  Hancock  in  Washington, 
and  that  the  general  had,  during  the  evening, 
highly  entertained  us  by  reading  some  of  his  (Mr. 
Prentice's)  poetry  ;  to  which  he  replied,  "  I  am 


330  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

glad  that  you  were  so  easily  pleased."  This  seemed 
to  make  matters  a  little  worse ;  so  our  common 
friend,  with  admirable  tact,  came  to  the  rescue,  and 
changed  the  subject  by  launching  into  politics. 
Here  the  old  war-horse  was  at  home;  and  he 
brightened  up  wonderfully,  being  much  more  inter- 
ested in  such  matters  than  he  could  possibly  be  in 
me,  and  taking  no  pains  to  conceal  it.  Before  tak- 
ing our  departure  Mr.  Prentice  brought  up  the 
subject  of  the  theater,  and  reluctantly,  I  think, 
requested  a  seat  to  witness  the  performance  on  the 
following  evening.  I  told  him  that  I  would  have 
a  private  box  placed  at  his  service.  He  said  he 
would  prefer  this  arrangement,  so  that  if  he  felt 
wearied  during  the  performance  he  could  with- 
draw without  attracting  attention.  I  was  naturally 
grateful  for  this  consideration,  but  I  could  not 
quite  see  the  compliment  of  it. 

In  my  brief  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Prentice  I 
could  scarcely  judge  of  the  true  quality  of  his 
humor,  but  to  me  it  seemed  grim  rather  than  gen- 
ial. His  skill  in  journalism  was  exhibited  in  his 
epigrammatic  style  of  paragraphing,  rather  than  in 
a  knowledge  of  political  economy.  The  journalist 
of  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  was  a  slow,  old-fash- 
ioned gentleman,  who  would  look  like  a  curious 
piece  of  bric-a-brac  in  an  editorial  room  of  to-day. 
But  Mr.  Prentice  was  a  man  possessed  of  rare  lit- 
erary skill,  and  must  have  felt  the  necessity  of  his 
abdication  very  keenly.  His  sad  face  told  that  he 
plainly  recognized  that  his  day  of  usefulness  was 
over. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  331 

He  came  to  see  the  play,  and  I  fancied  that 
the  desolation  of  Rip  must  have  reminded  him 
of  his  own  loneliness,  for  when  the  curtain  fell 
upon  the  last  act  he  came  to  the  door  of  my 
dressing-room,  and,  giving  me  his  hand,  thanked 
me  for  a  pleasant  evening.  I  was  on  the  point  of 
retorting  that  I  was  glad  he  was  so  easily  pleased, 
but  I  did  not.  This  kind  of  resistance  is  always 
best,  for  one  seldom  regrets  one's  silence  upon 
any  subject. 

During  the  season  of  1868  and  1869,  while  I 
was  acting  through  the  Western  country,  I  met 
my  old  friend  and  companion  Tom  Glessing; 
we  had  not  seen  each  other  for  about  eighteen 
years.  He  lived  in  Indianapolis,  where,  by  hard 
work,  he  had  managed  to  buy  a  lovely  little 
cottage,  in  which  his  widow  afterwards  lived. 
The  house  was  surrounded  by  and  covered  with 
roses,  all  of  which  had  been  planted  by  his  own 
hand ;  among  them  were  many  choice  varieties 
for  which  he  had  sent  to  England.  He  had  great 
knowledge  of  plants,  and  for  the  warmth  and 
growth  of  his  pets  had  built  a  little  greenhouse 
close  to  the  kitchen,  through  which  he  had  cut 
a  hole  to  let  in  the  heat,  and  so  economize  in 
fuel.  He  told  me  that,  knowing  it  was  neces- 
sary for  ventilation  that  an  opening  should  be 
made  to  let  the  hot  air  out  again,  he  cut  another 
hole  back  into  the  kitchen ;  and  he  said  he  never 
could  tell  which  way  the  hot  air  came  in  or  which 
way  it  went  out. 

Glessing  had  a  most  ingenious  way  of  arguing, 


332  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  would  turn  a  misfortune  into  a  blessing  with 
a  few  words.  It  so  chanced  that  the  management 
of  the  theater  at  which  he  painted  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  desire  to  economize,  and  proposed, 
among  other  methods,  to  reduce  Tom's  salary. 
He  acceded  to  the  proposition  without  the  slight- 
est demur,  and  told  me  of  it  in  the  most  cheerful 
way ;  in  fact,  one  would  have  supposed,  by  his 
manner,  that  his  income  had  been  increased  by 
the  reduction.  I  was  about  to  sympathize  with 
him,  but  he  would  only  treat  the  matter  in  an  easy 
and  delightful  way,  assuring  me  that  he  considered 
himself  the  gainer  by  the  new  arrangement. 

He  explained  that  he  always  fidgeted  during 
his  summer  vacation,  and  that  while  he  was  en- 
joying himself  at  the  old  farm-house,  down  by 
the  seaside,  his  pleasure  was  often  spoiled  by  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  sacrificing  so  much  time 
and  money  there,  when  he  might  have  been  at 
work  and  under  salary.  "  You  see  then  I  got  $75 
a  week,"  said  he;  "now  I  only  get  $50,  so  it  is 
a  clear  gain  of  $25  a  week  in  my  favor,  at  least 
during  the  vacation." 

As  I  have  before  said,  the  attachment  between 
Tom  Glessing  and  me  was  warm  and  sincere ; 
he  would  have  been  as  welcome  to  a  share  in 
my  worldly  goods  as  he  was  to  a  large  corner 
of  my  heart ;  and  I  am  quite  confident  that  he  felt 
the  same  affection  for  me  that  I  did  for  him. 

When  he  decided  to  leave  his  old  home  in 
Indianapolis  he  determined  to  take  with  him  as 
many  little  remembrances  of  it  as  he  could  con- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  333 

veniently  carry,  among  which  was  a  moss-rose- 
bush that  he  had  sent  to  England  for,  and  had 
tended  for  years  in  his  garden.  He  asked  me 
to  keep  it  and  have  it  cared  for,  as  he  now  had 
no  place  to  shelter  it;  so  it  was  left  with  me. 
From  the  time  he  parted  with  it  the  plant 
drooped ;  this,  of  course,  I  considered  due  to 
changing  it  from  its  old  home  to  a  new  one,  or 
perhaps  from  some  lack  of  nutriment  to  which 
it  had  been  accustomed.  For  seven  years  it  lan- 
guished in  my  garden,  and  during  all  that  time 
never  bloomed.  Its  position  was  shifted  each  year, 
our  gardener  using  all  his  care  and  judgment,  but 
it  did  not  thrive. 

About  this  time  it  was  decided  that  Tom  with 
his  family  should  pay  us  a  visit :  this  was  in  April, 
just  seven  years  since  he  had  left  the  plant  with 
me.  From  this  time  it  began  to  revive,  and  in 
June,  when  he  arrived,  it  was  in  full  bloom,  as 
though  to  welcome  him.  Of  course  this  may  have 
been  a  mere  coincidence,  but  it  is  an  interesting 
one,  and  bears  out  the  old  superstition  that  a  tree 
or  plant  which  has  been  reared  by  a  loving  hand 
will  wither  and  die  when  its  owner  passes  away. 
Since  Tom's  death  the  rose  has  languished  again, 
and  is  now  dying  away. 

There  are  many  causes  for  such  matters  without 
attributing  them  to  supernatural  agencies  ;  but  to 
me  there  is  something  so  pleasant  in  believing 
them  to  be  mysterious  that  I  am  afraid  I  often 
cherish  the  idea  that  they  are  the  offspring  of  a 
spiritual  growth  rather  than  a  real  one.  My  friend 


334  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

says,  "What  good  can  such  things  do?"  I  can 
only  answer,  "  What  harm  can  they  do  ?  " 

The  calm  and  happy  life  of  Glessing  seemed 
not  only  to  grow  out  of  a  naturally  contented 
nature,  but  from  a  love  of  retirement.  I  have 
scarcely  ever  seen  true  happiness  except  in  one 
who  was  comparatively  obscure.  An  insatiate  am- 
bition that  craves  for  notoriety  is  always  in  a 
distressed  condition.  It  feeds  on  adulation,  and 
starves  unless  the  appetite  is  continually  fed  with 
praise.  There  is  an  excitement  and  a  kind  of 
false  grandeur  about  this  existence  that  may  de- 
light the  idol ;  but  such  a  position  is  only  reached 
at  the  expense  of  never  knowing  who  are  your 
friends,  and  a  dread  of  the  time  that  must  come 
when  the  dream  will  be  dispelled.  No  man 
need  be  envied  who  is  the  center  of  a  group 
by  whom  he  is  flattered  and  petted,  for  even 
while  such  adulation  lasts  it  is  not  strength- 
ening; it  only  stimulates.  There  can  be  no 
healthy  nourishment  in  such  poor  stuff,  and 
gradually  the  very  sight  of  those  who  admin- 
ister it  becomes  as  sickening  as  the  diet  itself. 
They  know  this,  too,  and  when  the  time  comes 
for  their  idol  to  topple  over  they  wink  and  nudge 
each  other  as  he  falls. 

In  strong  contrast  to  Glessing,  I  will  relate  a 
melancholy  instance  of  a  fallen  man  that  once 
came  under  my  notice.  We  were  not  only  ac- 
quaintances, but  friends.  He  was  both  genial  and 
hospitable,  and  entertained  with  grace  and  splen- 
dor. Upon  his  walls  hung  costly  pictures,  and 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  335 

his  cellar  was  filled  with  rare  wines.  At  his  board 
one  always  met  interesting  people — wits,  states- 
men, belles,  and  beaux.  If  not  the  most  refined,  it 
was  at  least  the  gayest  house,  when  his  various 
guests  were  assembled,  that  I  can  remember.  He 
was  a  man  of  culture  and  taste,  and  one  who,  I 
would  have  supposed,  could  never  have  borne  the 
shock  of  a  fallen  estate.  His  extravagance  was 
boundless,  and  I  think  that  this  passion  grew  out 
of  another — the  desire  of  making  a  display  and 
posing  as  an  important  central  figure. 

I  knew  this  hollow  splendor  could  not  last,  and 
one  day  told  him  so.  He  laughed,  "  Oh,  yes,  it  is 
all  right."  His  hope  was  large,  and  his  nature  so 
buoyant  that  he  felt  confident  of  pulling  through. 
The  storm  was  coming,  but  he  would  not  see  it. 
At  last  it  burst.  The  entertainment  had  been 
superb ;  I  was  the  last  guest.  Just  as  I  was  going 
out  —  he  had  been  merrier  that  night  than  usual  — 
he  detained  me  for  a  moment,  and,  taking  my  hand, 
said  with  a  cheerful  smile :  "  Well,  old  chap,  you 
were  right;  it  's  come.  This  is  my  last  Sunday 
here ;  everything  will  be  sold  out  on  Saturday 
next."  I  asked  if  his  wife  and  daughter  knew  it. 
"No,  not  yet;  they  will  in  the  morning"  —  with  a 
smile.  "  Good  night."  When  the  door  of  this 
dazzling  and  ill-fated  house  closed  on  me  I  stood 
in  the  dark  street  and  wondered  what  would  be 
the  sad  fate  of  this  butterfly  of  a  man ;  and  I  felt 
that  under  the  genial  and  hospitable  garb  he  wore 
for  the  world  there  must  be  a  cold  and  stony  heart 
— that  could  be  so  gay  while  knowing  that  in  a 


336  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

few  hours  his  wife  and  child  would  feel  a  shock 
that  would  break  their  hearts. 

The  blow  came,  the  house  was  sold,  and  all  the 
pictures  and  the  costly  furniture  were  sacrificed  un- 
der the  hammer  of  an  auctioneer.  The  women 
bore  it  bravely,  and  set  to  work  in  good  earnest 
to  retrieve  their  fallen  fortunes.  The  mother  took 
boarders,  the  daughter  taught  music ;  but  the  ex- 
travagance of  a  selfish  man  was  too  great  a  drain 
on  their  slender  earnings,  and  so  they  dropped 
down,  down,  from  bad  to  worse.  What  eventually 
became  of  the  family  I  never  knew,  but  the  man 
dwindled  into  a  mere  hanger-on  of  society,  watch- 
ing the  arrivals  at  the  hotels  in  the  hope  of  catching 
some  old  acquaintance.  He  is  living  still,  and  his 
attenuated  figure  may  be  seen  gliding  in  and  out 
of  the  different  hotels,  or  lounging  in  the  reading- 
room,  where  he  pretends  to  look  over  the  papers, 
while  the  eyes  in  his  gaunt,  wan  face  search  eagerly 
for  some  familiar  friend  of  whom  to  ask  a  loan.  Now 
and  then  he  meets  an  acquaintance  who,  for  the 
sake  of  "  auld  lang  syne,"  has  not  the  heart  to 
refuse  him.  Then  his  face  lights  up  with  the  old 
selfish  smile,  and  he  will  chuckle  with  delight  as 
he  talks  of  bygone  merrymakings,  just  as  though 
he  had  enjoyed  one  yesterday  and  would  have  an- 
other to-morrow.  Hope,  eternal  hope,  has  kept 
him  up  all  through,  and  will  do  so  to  the  last.  He 
still  thinks  that  his  troubles  will  soon  end ;  and  so 
they  will,  poor  fellow !  —  in  a  pauper's  grave. 

George  Holland  was  distinctly  an  actor  of  the  old 
school,  invariably  introducing  even  into  modern 


GEORGE     HOLLAND 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  337 

characters  its  traditions  and  conventionalties ;  his 
effects  were  broadly  given,  and  his  personality  was 
essentially  comic.  He  was  quite  an  old  man  when 
I  first  knew  him,  and  I  had  serious  doubts  as  to 
whether  our  acquaintance  in  the  theater  would  be 
an  agreeable  one  ;  for  by  the  terms  of  my  engage- 
ment I  was  to  hold  a  leading  part  as  the  comedian 
of  the  company,  and  he,  who  had  always  occupied 
that  station,  was  placed  as  second  to  me.  I  natu- 
rally thought  that  feeling  himself  comparatively 
subordinate,  and  that  I,  a  younger  man,  was  to 
outrank  him,  he  would,  by  his  manner  at  least,  re- 
sent my  intrusion  upon  his  former  ground.  I  was, 
however,  agreeably  mistaken ;  for  I  found  him 
too  generous  a  man  to  harbor  any  jealous  feel- 
ings, and  to  my  gratification  we  were  friends  from 
our  first  meeting.  It  is  pleasant  also  to  know  that 
this  relationship  extended  over  many  years,  and  up 
to  the  day  of  his  death. 

The  useful  career  and  unblemished  character  of 
George  Holland  will  be  recalled  by  all  who  knew 
him.  He  lived,  a  bright  and  cheerful  spirit,  in  this 
world  for  eighty  years,  for  time  could  not  age  his 
youthful  heart.  He  was  the  merriest  man  I  ever 
knew.  Practical  joking  was  a  passion  with  him,  and 
though  his  pranks  were  numerous,  by  some  good 
fortune  they  always  ended  innocently  and  with 
harmless  mirth.  I  remember  that  on  one  occasion, 
when  some  goldfish  had  been  placed  in  the  orna- 
mental fountain  in  Union  Square,  Holland  dressed 
himself  in  a  full  sporting  suit,  and  with  a  fish-bas- 
ket strapped  upon  his  shoulder,  a  broad-brimmed 


338  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

hat  upon  his  head,  and  a  rod  in  his  hand,  he  un- 
folded a  camp-stool,  and  quietly  seating  himself  in 
front  of  the  fountain  began  to  fish,  with  such  a  pa- 
tient and  earnest  look  in  his  face  that  no  one  could 
have  supposed  that  it  was  intended  as  a  practical 
joke.  This  strange  spectacle  soon  attracted  a  cu- 
rious crowd  about  the  sportsman,  who,  with  a 
vacant  and  idiotic  smile,  sat  there  quietly  awaiting 
a  nibble.  A  policeman  soon  forced  his  way  through 
the  crowd  and  arrested  Holland,  who  explained 
with  a  bewildered  look  that  he  was  fishing  in  his 
own  private  grounds.  The  policeman  naturally 
concluded  that  the  intruder  was  some  harmless 
lunatic,  and,  patting  him  kindly  on  the  shoulder, 
bade  him  go  home  to  his  friends.  Holland  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  while  affectionately  em- 
bracing the  guardian  of  the  law  contrived  to  fasten 
the  fish-hook  into  the  collar  of  the  policeman's  coat, 
who  walked  slowly  and  sympathetically  away,  un- 
consciously dragging  the  line  and  rod  after  him. 
The  crowd,  seeing  the  joke,  roared  with  laughter 
as  Holland  quickly  made  his  way  to  the  nearest 
omnibus,  which  he  reached  before  the  infuriated 
policeman  could  catch  him. 

Upon  the  announcement  of  the  death  of  George 
Holland,  I  called  at  the  house  of  his  family,  and 
found  them  in  great  grief.  The  sister  of  Mrs. 
Holland  informed  me  that  they  desired  the  fu- 
neral to  take  place  from  the  church,  as  many 
of  Mr.  Holland's  friends  would  like  to  mark  their 
love  and  respect  for  him  by  their  attendance, 
and  that  the  house  in  which  the  family  lived 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  339 

was  too  small  to  receive  the  large  gathering  of 
people  that  would  be  likely  to  assemble.  The 
lady  desired  me  to  call  upon  the  pastor  of  her 
own  church,  and  request  him  to  officiate  at  the 
service.  I  at  once  started  in  quest  of  the  minister, 
taking  one  of  the  sons  of  Mr.  Holland  with  me. 
On  arriving  at  the  house  I  explained  to  the 
reverend  gentleman  the  nature  of  my  visit,  and 
the  arrangements  were  made  for  the  time  and  place 
at  which  the  funeral  was  to  be  held.  Something, 
I  can  scarcely  say  what,  gave  me  the  impression 
that  I  had  best  mention  that  Mr.  Holland  was 
an  actor.  I  did  so  in  a  few  words,  and  concluded 
by  presuming  that  probably  this  fact  would  make 
no  difference.  I  saw,  however,  by  the  restrained 
manner  of  the  minister  and  an  unmistakable 
change  in  the  expression  of  his  face  that  it  would 
make,  at  least  to  him,  a  great  deal  of  difference. 
After  some  hesitation  he  said  that  he  would  be 
compelled,  if  Mr.  Holland  had  been  an  actor,  to 
decline  holding  the  service  at  the  church. 

While  his  refusal  to  perform  the  funeral  rites  for 
my  old  friend  would  have  shocked  under  ordinary 
circumstances,  the  fact  that  it  was  made  in  the 
presence  of  the  dead  man's  son  was  more  painful 
than  I  can  describe.  I  turned  to  look  at  the  youth, 
and  saw  that  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  He 
stood  as  one  dazed  with  a  blow  just  realized ;  as 
if  he  felt  the  terrible  injustice  of  a  reproach  upon 
the  kind  and  loving  father  who  had  often  kissed 
him  in  his  sleep,  and  had  taken  him  on  his  knee 
when  the  boy  was  old  enough  to  know  the  mean- 


340  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

ing  of  the  words,  and  told  him  to  grow  up  to  be 
an  honest  man.  I  was  hurt  for  my  young  friend, 
and  indignant  with  the  man — too  much  so  to 
reply ;  and  I  rose  to  leave  the  room  with  a  mor- 
tification that  I  cannot  remember  to  have  felt  before 
or  since.  I  paused  at  the  door  and  said : 

"Well,  sir,  in  this  dilemma  is  there  no  other 
church  to  which  you  can  direct  me,  from  which 
my  friend  can  be  buried  ? " 

He  replied  that  "  there  was  a  little  church  around 
the  corner  "  where  I  might  get  it  done ;  to  which  I 
answered : 

"  Then,  if  this  be  so,  God  bless  '  the  little  church 
around  the  corner ' ;  "  and  so  I  left  the  house. 

The  minister  had  unwittingly  performed  an 
important  christening,  and  his  baptismal  name  of 
"The  Little  Church  around  the  Corner"  clings  to 
it  to  this  day. 

While  acting  my  first  engagement  at  the  Boston 
Theater  I  met  Charles  Fechter.  By  the  terms  of 
my  agreement  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  give 
five  nights'  performance  and  a  matinee  each  week, 
Fechter  playing  only  on  Saturday  night.  I  had 
not  seen  him  act  since  my  visit  to  France  in  1855, 
so  that  I  had  an  opportunity  of  witnessing  his 
performance  here  some  three  or  four  times.  His 
Claude  Melnotte  and  Don  Cesar  were  unquestion- 
ably the  best  I  had  ever  seen.  The  arrange- 
ment of  his  dramatic  pictures  was  graceful  and 
unconventional. 

William  Warren,  Charles  Fechter,  and  I  were 
living  at  the  same  house  during  my  engagement 


CHARLES     FECHTER. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  341 

in  Boston,  and  usually  met  at  supper  after  the 
play.  This  is  not  only  the  witching  time  of  night 
for  an  actor,  but  it  affords  a  golden  hour  for 
theatrical  chat.  Charles  Fechter  was  a  most 
agreeable  and  entertaining  man.  He  had  a  rich 
fund  of  theatrical  anecdotes  relating  to  the  French 
stage  and  told  them  with  excellent  dramatic  effect. 
Frederick  Lemaitre  was  an  especial  favorite  with 
him,  and  it  struck  me  from  what  he  said  in  relation 
to  him  that  his  own  style  of  acting  was  founded 
upon  that  of  his  idol. 

I  think  Fechter  was  less  greedy  of  public 
approbation  than  he  was  of  the  applause  of  his 
brother  actors  ;  he  seemed  to  delight  in  portray- 
ing scenes  from  his  different  characters  before 
them.  William  Warren  and  I  made  an  excellent 
audience  on  such  occasions,  as  we  not  only 
thought  highly  of  his  artistic  qualities,  but  were 
naturally  interested  in  the  great  actors  of  the 
French  stage,  of  whom  we  had  heard  so  much  and 
seen  comparatively  so  little.  His  description  of 
Lemaitre  in  the  character  of  Belphegor  was  won- 
derfully graphic.  I  think  Warren  and  I  were 
the  only  ones  present  on  the  occasion  of  this 
illustration.  He  acted  it  to  the  life.  We  were 
deeply  interested ;  and  he,  catching,  I  suppose, 
the  spirit  of  our  appreciation,  became  enthusiastic. 
The  art  was  so  fine  and  the  feeling  so  intense  that 
we  seemed  to  be  looking  at  the  scene.  The  gar- 
dens of  the  chateau,  the  fine  company  supposed  to 
be  assembled,  were  not  required  to  give  life  to  the 
acting.  He  addressed  the  imaginary  guests  with 


342  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

such  force  that  they  seemed  to  stand  before  us. 
As  the  mountebank,  with  his  starving  child  cling- 
ing to  him,  weakened  from  the  want  of  food,  with 
tears  choking  his  utterance,  he  carried  us  com- 
pletely away.  And  when  in  a  burst  of  grief  he 
caught  his  fainting  boy  in  his  arms,  I  think  we 
were  both  in  tears. 

In  this  respect  Fechter  seems  to  have  somewhat 
resembled  Garrick,  who,  we  are  told,  was  as  en- 
tertaining off  the  stage  as  he  was  on  it.  This 
peculiar  faculty  has  given  rise  to  the  rather  unjust 
suspicion  that  Garrick  was  not  so  great  an  actor 
as  his  biographers  would  make  us  believe. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  many  great  actors  are 
unable  to  become  sufficiently  enthused  to  act  well 
off  the  stage,  and  there  are  some  very  indifferent 
ones  who  can  entertain  privately  with  considerable 
effect ;  but  there  is  no  reason  why  artists  may  not 
possess  both  faculties. 

Mr.  Fechter  was  thought  to  be  somewhat  erratic 
both  as  a  manager  and  in  the  conduct  of  his  private 
business  ;  he  certainly  failed  in  both  England  and 
America  in  the  former  character.  His  directorship 
at  the  Lyceum  in  London  and  his  managerial 
career  in  New  York  and  Boston  were  not  suc- 
cessful. 

There  are  two  striking  instances  of  Mr.  Fechter's 
benevolence  that  I  think  were  not  made  generally 
public,  and  which  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  men- 
tioning. He  retired  from  the  directorship  of  the 
Globe  Theater  in  Boston  in  consequence  of  some 
disagreement  with  the  proprietor.  The  public, 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  343 

considering  him  the  injured  party,  tendered  him  a 
benefit,  which  I  believe  netted  him  something  like 
five  thousand  dollars.  He  accepted  the  compli- 
ment but  declined  to  receive  the  money,  requesting 
the  committee  who  had  been  most  active  in  the 
movement  to  name  five  public  charities  of  Boston 
to  which  he  might  give  the  proceeds.  His  request 
was  complied  with,  and  he  gave  the  five  thousand 
in  accordance  with  the  committee's  selection.  This 
was  certainly  a  generous  gift,  particularly  as  Mr. 
Fechter  was  not  a  rich  man,  and  as  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  at  that  time  the  money  would  have  been 
most  useful  to  him. 

Just  previous  to  this  occurrence  a  company  of 
French  actors  had  been  playing  in  Boston  with 
ill  success,  and  had  gradually  fallen  into  financial 
trouble.  In  their  distress  Fechter  came  to  the 
rescue.  He  was  at  that  time  a  drawing  card,  and 
his  name  announced  for  the  benefit  of  his  national 
brother  artists  drew  a  crowded  house,  the  proceeds 
of  which  relieved  them  from  their  embarrassment. 
Shortly  after  this  a  committee  of  actors  from  the 
relieved  company  called  on  their  generous  comrade 
and  presented  him  with  a  testimonial  of  their 
gratitude  and  a  silver  cup  upon  which  was  the 
following  inscription : 

A  Charles  Fechter, 

les  artistes  franc.ais  de  New  York, 

Boston,  1 6  Avril,  1870. 

This  same  cup  was  discovered  in  a  pawnbroker's 
shop  in  New  York  several  years  after  Mr.  Fechter's 
death,  and  was  rescued  by  William  Warren  from 


344  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  destruction  to  which  the  unrelenting  crucible 
would  have  condemned  it.  Warren  presented  it 
to  me,  and  I  have  it  still. 

Much  comment  has  been  made  on  the  usual 
reception  given  to  an  American  actor  in  England, 
and  vice  versa.  London  and  New  York  are  naturally 
selected  as  the  initial  points  for  the  appearance  of 
plays  and  players,  and  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  in  such  large  communities,  containing,  as  they 
do,  thousands  of  actors  and  hundreds  of  critics, 
there  should  be  a  small  band  of  histrionic  and 
literary  assassins,  whose  natures  are  embittered  by 
their  lifelong  failures.  But  the  great  public  of 
both  hemispheres  have  no  spleen  to  exercise ;  they 
welcome  a  new  entertainment  with  the  heartiest 
warmth,  if  it  affords  them  gratification.  They  have 
neither  the  time  nor  the  inclination  to  persecute 
strangers.  Of  course  if  some  element  of  national 
pride  is  wounded  there  are  always  enough  turbu- 
lent spirits  to  begin  a  disturbance,  as  was  the  case 
with  the  Forrest  and  Macready  riots  in  1849  5  but 
these  occurrences  are  exceptional,  and  at  no  time 
are  they  approved  by  public  opinion.  The  spirit 
of  fair  play  circulates  freely  in  Anglo-Saxon  blood 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

An  excellent  English  actor  may  visit  us,  the 
local  features  of  whose  performance  are  not  under- 
stood ;  or  an  American  will  perhaps  take  an  in- 
different play  to  London,  and  the  public  decline 
to  receive  it — not  because  it  is  American,  but 
because  it  is  bad.  As  soon  as  these  weak  spots 
appear  the  assassination  begins  the  churlish  actors 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  345 

wag  their  tongues,  and  splenetic  critics  draw  their 
pens — points  envenomed,  too.  The  unfortunate 
victim  returns  home  in  either  case  under  the  natu- 
ral, but  erroneous,  impression  that  the  country  has 
been  up  in  arms  against  him. 

With  these  convictions  and  the  agreeable  re- 
membrance of  my  professional  success  in  1865,  I 
had  no  apprehensions  of  failure  when  I  visited 
London  ten  years  later.  Shortly  after  our  arrival 
in  London  I  entered  into  an  engagement  with  Mr. 
Chatterton  to  appear  at  the  Princess's  Theater  in 
November,  and  straightway  proceeded  with  my 
family  to  France,  where  we  passed  the  summer. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SCENES  AND  THOUGHTS  ABROAD 

Once  More  in  Paris  —  French  Acting — French 
and  English  Painters — English  Acquaintances 
—  The  Reverend  Joseph  Jefferson  —  Gainsbor- 
ough—  In  Scotland — In  Ireland 

IN  Paris  we  were  delightfully  situated,  having 
apartments  at  the  Hotel  Mirabeau,  which 
looked  out  upon  a  quaint  and  pretty  court- 
yard, filled  with  plants,  birds,  flowers,  and 
fountains.  Our  party  consisted  of  nine.  This 
was  altogether  too  large  a  family  to  secure  any 
privacy  for  ourselves ;  and  it  is  quite  likely  that 
our  four  children  did  not  secure  privacy  to  any 
one  else.  We  were  therefore  delighted  to  get  away 
from  this  charming  place,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  the  remaining  guests  shared  our  pleasure. 
We  took  a  furnished  flat  in  Avenue  d'Eylau, 
where  we  could  study  French  in  sight  of  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe ;  and  for  this  laudable  purpose 
I  engaged  a  celebrated  teacher,  Madame  Some- 
body, who  would  have  talked  us  to  death  if  we 
could  ever  have  understood  what  she  said. 

346 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  347 

She  was  a  great  character — fat,  fair,  and  fifty, 
I  should  say ;  always  dressed  in  the  extremes  of 
tawdry  fashion,  full  of  flounces  and  frills,  with  a 
large  head  decked  out  in  an  enormous  bonnet 
and  smothered  with  a  flower-garden  in  full  bloom. 
Under  her  left  arm  she  hugged  three  or  four  big 
books,  and  with  her  right  hand  she  flourished  a 
formidable  blue  cotton  umbrella.  She  usually 
came  about  ten  in  the  morning,  entering  the 
room  all  radiant  with  smiles  and  good  humor, 
making  an  extravagant  courtesy,  and  saluting  the 
assembled  family  with,  "Bon  jour,  mes  chers 
amis!"  She  would  then  pause  for  an  instant,  with 
her  head  on  one  side,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You 
see  I  address  you  in  French  always ;  we  must  lose 
no  time." 

After  seating  ourselves  around  a  large  center- 
table  Madame  would  adjust  her  spectacles,  and, 
looking  over  the  top  of  them,  begin  to  hurl  her 
terrible  verbs  at  our  heads.  My  children,  who 
were  well  versed  in  French,  received  and  caught 
them  neatly,  but  they  seldom  struck  me.  She 
promised  to  teach  us  in  three  months ;  but  I  think, 
from  what  I  remember  of  her  pronunciation  of 
our  own  language,  that  we  could  not  have  taught 
her  English  in  as  many  centuries.  However,  we 
had  all  pledged  ourselves  to  stick  to  it  and  master 
the  language  at  once :  none  of  your  reading,  and 
writing,  and  translating — oh,  no!  that  would  n't 
do  for  us;  it  was  to  be  practical,  the  pure  solid 
mother  tongue,  with  a  full  Parisian  accent.  My 
progress  was  of  so  wonderful  a  character  that  at 


348  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  end  of  the  first  month,  by  hard  study  and 
close  application,  I  knew  less  about  it  than  I  did 
when  I  began.  The  verbs  became  denser  and 
denser;  so  I  retired  from  the  academy,  and,  like 
an  indulgent  father,  abdicated  in  favor  of  my 
children. 

The  villages  near  Paris  are  most  attractive  for 
sketching,  being  full  of  glimpses  of  beautiful 
scenes :  through  the  trees  some  old  chateau  or 
French  cottage,  with  those  tall  poplars  so  full  of 
character  stretching  out  in  the  distance  or  reflected 
in  a  stream.  In  this  artistic  atmosphere  one  who  is 
fond  of  painting  feels  a  mysterious  craving  for  his 
canvas.  I  painted  pictures  all  day  and  dreamed  of 
them  all  night. 

Madame  Vert,  the  lady  to  whom  the  property 
belonged,  was  a  widow.  M.  Vert,  it  seems,  had 
bequeathed  her  the  estate  just  previous  to  his  death 
on  the  dog-in-the-manger  condition  that  she  would 
remain  single  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  it  being 
understood  that  in  the  event  of  her  proving  false 
to  this  one-sided  bargain  the  property  was  to 
revert  to  his  family.  It  is  presumable  that  this 
liberal-minded  gentleman  fancied  that  he  would 
slumber  more  peacefully  in  Pere  La  Chaise  if  he 
were  sure  that  his  widow,  after  wearing  out  a  long 
life  of  single  misery,  would  join  him  there  unaccom- 
panied by  another  husband. 

The  man  who  took  the  inventory  of  the  furniture 
confided  to  me  the  strange  and  selfish  conditions  of 
the  will,  and  told  me,  moreover,  that  Madame  Vert 
was  extremely  unhappy  under  its  restraint;  and, 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  349 

as  she  was  quite  young  and  very  beautiful,  I  have 
no  doubt  that  he  told  the  truth,  particularly  as  the 
matter  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  business,  in 
which  latter  department  his  veracity  was  more 
than  questionable. 

The  morning  we  took  possession  of  the  apart- 
ments Madame  dropped  in — by  the  merest  chance, 
of  course.  She  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  door- 
way, a  lovely  picture  of  insincerity,  regarding  us 
(the  agent  included)  with  her  beautiful  shoulders 
and  eyebrows  elevated,  and  in  an  attitude  of  sweet 
but  melancholy  surprise, — just  as  if  she  did  n't 
know  all  about  it, — and  then  the  agent  explained 
it  to  her  just  as  if  he  had  n't  done  so  the  day 
before.  The  charming  widow  was  tastefully 
arrayed  in  half  mourning,  that  non-committal 
gray  check  trimmed  with  deep  purple,  a  sort  of 
compromise  between  grief  and  cheerfulness,  cut 
and  fitted  in  so  stylish  and  graceful  a  fashion  that 
I  wondered  whether  these  becoming  weeds  were 
worn  out  of  respect  for  the  lost  one,  or  with  a 
design  of  capturing  the  next  one  —  except  that 
the  fatal  clause  in  her  husband's  testament  made 
the  latter  quite  impossible. 

Madame  regarded  us  with  a  sad  smile,  also  in 
half  mourning,  and  was  so  charmed  that  her  old 
home  was  to  be  occupied  by  my  family  that  we 
felt  much  complimented ;  and  when  she  departed 
I  think  we  were  under  the  impression  that  our 
landlady  would  have  been  distressed  if  any 
other  party  had  been  before  us  in  securing  the 
place. 


350  THE    /tUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  had  just  been  displaying  to  my  family  my  last 
picture  in  the  shape  of  a  landscape.  I  know  now, 
as  I  did  not  know  then,  how  vain  I  was  of  the 
miserable  work,  and  call  to  mind  the  adroitness  of 
our  new  landlady  in  discovering  my  weakness  at  a 
glance.  She  went  into  ecstasies  over  my  daub  of  a 
picture.  This  captured  me  at  once,  and  when  she 
said  that  the  style  reminded  her  of  Corot's  I  would 
not  have  rented  a  house  of  any  other  lady  in  Paris 
for  the  world. 

She  stood  in  the  center  of  the  drawing-room, 
pointing  to  the  different  articles  of  comfort  and 
beauty  that  surrounded  her,  and  gave  us  to  under- 
stand that  all  belonged  to  my  family  and  myself: 
for  her  they  possessed  no  further  interest ;  use  or 
destroy  them,  if  we  liked,  she  cared  not.  In  fact, 
I  think  she  rather  preferred  the  latter  treatment,  as, 
when  we  gave  up  the  place,  we  were  charged 
double  for  every  scratch  or  spot  that  could  be  found 
by  the  innocent  agent.  The  whole  house  appeared 
to  have  been  arranged  so  that  it  would  fall  to  pieces 
on  the  slightest  provocation.  Expensive  bits  of 
bric-a-brac  had  been  so  ingeniously  poised  upon 
inadequate  brackets  that  the  vibration  of  a  passing 
cab  made  us  tremble  together.  Dents,  scratches, 
and  stains  that  were  quite  invisible  when  the  in- 
ventory had  been  taken  broke  out  in  the  parlor 
furniture,  and  soon  became  contagious.  Fire- 
tongs,  that  had  apparently  been  on  friendly  terms 
when  we  first  came,  refused  to  unite ;  annoying  little 
bits  of  inlaid  marquetry  had  fallen  out  with  the  old 
veneering,  and  defied  our  ingenuity  to  match  them 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  351 

back  again.  An  arm-chair  with  a  compound  frac- 
ture in  the  right  leg  had  let  me  down  in  a  most 
inhospitable  manner,  and  when  the  French  cook 
appeared,  displaying  some  damaged  long-handled 
copper  utensils,  I  felt  that  the  epidemic  had  reached 
the  kitchen. 

The  letting  of  furnished  houses  in  Paris  and 
London  should  be  classed  as  one  of  the  black  arts. 
There  is  no  necromancy  equal  to  it.  The  so-called 
smart  American  is  an  imbecile  in  their  crafty  hands. 
'"Will  you  walk  into  my  parlor?'  said  a  spider  to 
a  fly";  and  when  you  are  once  in  the  web  nothing 
can  extricate  you  but  your  check-book.  Don't 
attempt  to  struggle ;  you  will  only  entangle  your- 
self the  more. 

London  is  worse,  if  possible,  than  Paris.  During 
the  two  years  I  was  in  the  former  city  I  rented  two 
furnished  houses.  I  told  the  agent  of  the  first  one 
how  I  had  been  treated  in  Paris.  "  Ah,  yes,  yes  ! 
those  fellows  are  dreadfully  treacherous ;  but  did 
you  have  no  one  to  represent  you  ?  No  !  Now  see 
how  differently  we  manage  these  matters.  Here 
we  have  a  man  to  take  an  inventory,  with  a  list  of 
whatever  damages  have  already  been  sustained ; 
you  have  your  own  man  to  do  the  same  ;  they 
perform  this  work  together,  so  there  can  be  no 
mistake  or  fraud."  This  seemed  quite  fair.  The 
agent  recommends  me  to  a  man  who  will  work  in 
my  interest,  which  of  course  he  does  not.  The 
end  is  £50  damages  for  two  months.  My  next 
landlord  was  a  private  gentleman  who  was  so 
confiding  that  he  would  not  dream  of  taking  an 


352  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


inventory  ;  it  would  imply  a  suspicion  —  £j$  dam- 
ages for  three  months.  No  appeal  except  to  the 
law  :  oh,  no  !  keep  clear  of  that  in  London  ;  it  is 
worse  than  house  agents. 

But  while  I  am  telling  these  tricks  of  the  French 
and  British  spiders  —  which  I  do  in  hopes  of  warn- 
ing some  tourist  fly  —  let  me  say  a  word  in  favor  of 
honest  Scotland.  I  lived  with  my  family  for  six 
months  at  "  Morningside,"  near  Edinburgh,  in  a 
finely  furnished  old  mansion,  and  the  damages  were 
placed  at  the  moderate  sum  of  five  pounds. 

Art  is  so  sacred  in  Paris  that  its  conventionalities 
once  established  no  change  of  government  could 
affect  them.  Whether  the  country  be  imperial, 
republican,  or  monarchical,  the  subsidies  of  the 
Grand  Opera  and  the  Theatre  Frangais  remain 
unaltered.  In  our  own  country  the  amount  of  sub- 
sidy would  possibly  fluctuate  according  to  the 
artistic  views  of  the  "  present  Administration." 
The  leading  man  might  be  discharged  if  it  were 
discovered  that  he  had  voted  for  the  unsuccessful 
candidate. 

The  admirable  acting  at  the  Theatre  Francais, 
though  highly  finished,  is  not  without  conventional 
faults.  The  actors  often  address  themselves  to  the 
audience,  particularly  in  soliloquy.  No  matter  how 
great  an  actor  may  be,  he  weakens  his  effect  when 
he  does  this.  It  is  foreign  to  nature,  and  away 
"  from  the  purpose  of  playing."  It  jars  upon  an 
audience  ;  and,  be  it  ever  so  well  done,  it  looks  as 
if  a  beautiful  piece  of  mosaic  had  fallen  out  of  the 
picture. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  353 

I  saw  "  L'Ami  Fritz "  at  the  Theatre  Frangais, 
and  in  this  play  there  occurs  one  of  the  sweetest 
scenes  in  domestic  drama.  It  is  between  the  young 
village  maiden  and  the  Jewish  rabbi.  They  are 
seated  by  a  spring,  and  the  innocent  girl  is  relat- 
ing to  the  old  man  the  story  of  her  love.  He  leans 
forward,  attentively  listening  to  every  word.  She, 
with  her  low,  sweet  voice,  murmurs  forth  her 
bashful  confession,  and  with  downcast  eyes  grace- 
fully moves  her  hand  round  and  round  in  the 
water,  as  though  she  were  tracing  her  story  in  the 
pool.  When  she  has  finished  her  head  is  bowed 
down,  and  her  tears  seem  to  be  mingling  with  the 
brook.  The  rabbi  sits  regarding  her  in  silent 
admiration,  and  then  suddenly  bursts  forth  with 
the  exclamation,  "She  is  charming!"  In  speaking 
these  words  the  actor,  instead  of  looking  intently 
at  the  girl,  addressed  them  directly  to  the  audience. 
The  chain  was  broken  as  soon  as  he  committed 
this  error.  And  yet  he  was  one  of  the  finest 
artists  of  this  the  most  important  theater  in  France. 
The  same  fault  occurred  several  times  during  the 
play,  but  at  this  particular  point  it  was  glaring  and 
offensive. 

An  intimate  friend  was  at  the  theater  with  me, 
and  as  he  was  an  admirable  art  critic,  and  had  been 
born  in  Paris,  I  questioned  him  after  the  play  on 
this  subject.  I  mentioned  that  nowhere  in  France 
was  the  fault  more  common  than  at  the  very  theater 
where  one  would  have  least  expected  to  find  it ; 
and  in  fact  at  the  Palais  Royal,  and  at  several  of 
the  minor  theaters,  I  had  not  noticed  it  at  all.  He 


354  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

agreed  with  me  that  it  was  a  glaring  defect,  and 
that  it  was  a  common  occurrence  at  the  Frangais, 
but  was  passed  by  unnoticed,  or  rather  accepted  as 
one  of  the  conventionalities  of  the  theater. 

The  next  morning  we  met  at  breakfast,  and  he 
told  me  that  he  could  hardly  sleep  all  night  for 
thinking  of  what  I  had  said  about  stepping  outside 
of  the  dramatic  picture,  and  that  he  fancied  he  had 
hit  upon  the  reason  for  this  error  having  crept  into 
the  drama  of  the  night  before. 

It  seems  that  the  comedies  of  Moliere  are  acted 
only  at  this  house,  and  in  these  plays  the  characters 
are  often  required  to  address  the  audience  directly, 
like  the  chorus  in  the  old  Greek  plays,  and  also, 
as  in  some  of  the  plays  of  Shakspere,  inform  the 
audience  of  what  has  taken  place  between  the  acts. 
Therefore,  addressing  the  audience  was,  under  these 
conditions,  a  feature  of  the  play,  and  it  became  as 
imperative  that  an  actor  should  study  how  to  step 
out  of  the  picture  and  return  to  it  again  gracefully 
as  it  was  to  perfect  himself  in  any  other  detail  of 
his  art.  And  so  the  custom  sometimes  intruded 
itself  into  domestic  drama  from  the  mere  force  of 
habit.  Of  course  this  is  some  excuse,  but  it  does 
not  wholly  pardon  the  offense,  and  certainly  cannot 
undo  the  mischief. 

At  the  Theatre  Frangais  we  are  accustomed  to 
see  the  most  finished  acting  that  is  given  in  Paris. 
I  confess  I  have  been  there  but  seldom,  for,  though 
I  admit  the  importance  of  a  scholastic  dramatic  in- 
stitution, it  does  not  afford  me  the  pleasure  that  I 
get  from  the  less  polished  but  fresher  acting  of  some 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  355 

of  the  other  theaters.  Its  influence,  however,  on 
actors  is  unquestionably  a  good  one ;  the  discipline 
of  the  stage,  the  refined  style  of  its  professors,  and 
the  strict  adherence  to  the  rules  of  grammar  and 
methods  of  pronunciation,  keep  it  aloof  and  above 
all  other  theaters.  It  acts,  too,  as  a  check  upon 
actors  at  other  establishments  who  would  perhaps 
run  riot  with  their  successes,  and  it  enables  the 
managers  to  point  to  this  legitimate  temple  as  a 
model.  But  I  enjoyed  the  little  comedies  at  the 
Palais  Royal,  and  the  productions  at  the  Opera 
and  the  Opera  Comique,  beyond  all  the  theatrical 
entertainments  that  I  saw  in  Paris. 

In  wandering  through  the  art  galleries  I  looked 
one  day  upon  a  domestic  picture  by  Millet  that 
filled  me  with  a  sad  kind  of  pleasure.  The  subject 
and  treatment  were  simple  and  masterly — two 
women  sewing  upon  a  shroud ;  it  is  a  shroud,  too, 
of  some  one  they  both  loved ;  for,  while  they  ply 
their  needles  with  care  and  earnestness,  they 
seem  stunned  by  a  sudden  blow — some  recent 
affliction  :  it  would  seem  as  if  the  two  figures  were 
the  mother  and  sister  of  the  lost  one.  The  har- 
mony of  color  made  the  little  canvas  glow  with 
beauty,  and  the  composition  was  perfect.  These 
qualities  are,  of  course,  important,  but  the  inde- 
scribable mystery  of  feeling  that  filled  the  picture 
was  its  great  charm  :  one  could  not  look  at  the 
work  without  wondering  at  the  deep  emotion  of 
the  painter  while  he  was  lost  in  this  subject 
Gentle  and  tender-hearted  Millet,  you  will  never 
die  !  When  we  think  that  the  power  and  creative- 


356  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

ness  of  this  artist  were  subjected  for  years  to  the 
cold  judgment  of  unsympathetic  professors,  and  by 
them  treated  with  scorn  and  refused  their  rightful 
place  upon  the  walls  of  the  Salon,  it  makes  us 
wonder  where  the  law  of  compensation  begins. 
The  pretty  painters  of  the  ruling  school  were 
shocked  at  the  bold  treatment  of  the  peasant 
painter,  and  one  of  them  wondered  why  so  good 
a  draftsman  did  not  put  more  beauty  into  the  faces 
of  his  country  girls;  to  which  Millet  replied,  "The 
beauty  of  a  peasant  is  in  the  earnestness  with 
which  he  does  his  work."  Had  such  an  answer 
been  given  to  me  it  would  have  rung  in  my  ears 
till  the  crack  of  doom. 

The  French  school  of  landscape  painting  at- 
tracted me  very  much,  and  after  carefully  studying 
its  philosophy  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  greatest 
landscapes  are  works  of  the  imagination  rather  than 
transcripts  of  realities.  Nature  refuses  to  be  imi- 
tated, but  invariably  rewards  the  artist  who  has  the 
modesty  to  suggest  her.  The  painter  who  attempts 
to  give  an  exact  picture  of  a  natural  scene  will 
find  himself  surrounded  by  insurmountable  difficul- 
ties. As  an  example  let  us  suppose  that  he  takes 
for  his  subject  a  certain  view  with  which  we  are 
familiar ;  the  sky,  water,  the  foreground,  trees,  and 
distance  may  be  painted  in  the  exact  form,  color, 
and  perspective  proportions  of  the  original,  and 
yet  fail  to  give  one  an  idea  of  the  spot.  What 
is  the  reason  of  this  non-resemblance  when  all  the 
details  have  been  so  carefully  mitated  ?  What 
is  it  that  has  no  existence  in  the  picture,  and 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  357 

that  so  pervades  nature  ?  Where  are  the  sweet 
sounds  of  the  woods?  Where  is  the  singing  of 
the  birds,  the  hum  of  busy  insects,  and  the  mur- 
mur of  the  brooks?  Where  is  the  movement 
of  the  clouds,  the  graceful  bending  of  the  trees, 
and  the  perfume  of  the  pines  and  woodland 
flowers?  He  cannot  paint  these,  and  so  his  real- 
istic work  is  cold  and  lifeless.  But  if  in  modest 
truth  he  suggest  his  work,  omitting  hard  details 
and  impertinent  finish,  the  simple  picture  will  lead 
us  in  our  imagination  to  supply  the  artistic  im- 
possibilities of  sound  and  movement. 

When  I  first  saw  the  works  of  Constable  and 
Corot  I  did  not  like  them.  They  seemed  to  be 
devoid  of  subject,  and  there  was  an  unfinished  look 
about  them  that  gave  me  the  idea  of  mere  sketches 
carelessly  painted.  But  as  I  became  familiar  with 
these  pictures  I  gradually  began  to  understand 
what  they  meant.  I  then  discovered  that  it  was  I 
who  was  at  fault,  not  the  artists,  and  I  felt  ashamed 
to  think  that  I  had  seen  so  much  and  knew  so 
little.  Such  painters  as  Corot,  Millet,  Daubigny, 
Diaz,  Constable,  and  Rousseau  approached  nature 
in  a  spirit  of  reverence;  they  dared  not  imitate 
her.  That  they  studied  minutely  there  is  no  doubt, 
because  it  was  necessary  to  be  familiar  with  and 
imitate  all  the  details  of  nature,  that  they  might 
suggest  her  in  their  pictures,  like  the  elaborate 
rehearsal  of  a  part  previous  to  its  free  and  sponta- 
neous performance.  But  this  care  belongs  to  the 
study,  not  the  picture,  just  as  it  does  to  the  re- 
hearsal and  not  to  the  performance.  And  those 


358  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

landscapes  are  the  most  pleasing  that  have  form 
without  hardness,  strength  without  blackness,  sug- 
gestion without  vagueness,  and  delicacy  without 
weakness. 

The  early  works  of  Turner  seem  to  be  more 
highly  esteemed  than  his  later  ones,  but  to  me 
they  have  nothing  like  the  charm  of  the  pictures 
painted  near  the  close  of  his  life.  They  are  finished 
and  scholarly,  but  so  carefully  painted  that  they 
fail  to  produce  an  absorbing  effect.  We  should, 
however,  feel  grateful  for  these,  as  they  un- 
doubtedly led  the  way  to  the  masterly  works  that 
followed.  I  do  not  mean  that  all  art  should  be 
treated  in  a  merely  suggestive  way,  but  that  I 
enjoy  it  best  when  it  is  so  rendered.  For  as  tastes 
vary,  so  should  there  be  different  methods  to  meet 
each  desire.  We  are  generally  too  dogmatic,  and 
praise  only  those  works  that  chime  with  our  own 
fancy,  forgetting  that  all  artists  are  laboring  for 
the  public.  Each  painter  exerts  his  own  peculiar 
style  to  please  his  own  particular  audience.  To 
toil  for  critics  only  would  leave  the  workman  in  a 
sorry  plight. 

Censuring  a  chromo  because  we  do  not  enjoy  it 
is  as  narrow  and  illiberal  as  it  would  be  to  con- 
demn the  publication  of  a  poem  because  we  would 
prefer  to  read  it  in  the  author's  handwriting;  for 
it  is  only  another  form  of  publishing  the  works  of 
great  masters,  so  that  those  who  cannot  afford  the 
originals  may  relish  and  be  educated  by  the  copies. 
If  farmers  are  too  poor  to  buy  pictures,  give 
them  cheap  and  inferior  art  rather  than  no  art  at 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  359 

all,  and  so  let  them  have  their  chromos  as  broad- 
cast as  their  barley.  Besides,  to  one  who  is  devoid 
of  imagination  a  pre-Raphaelite  work,  where  each 
detail  is  clearly  defined,  is  more  agreeable  than  a 
suggestive  one;  therefore  he  should  have  it.  The 
discordant  scraping  of  a  Chinese  orchestra  is 
dreadful  to  us,  but  if  it  falls  harmoniously  on  the 
ear  of  a  Chinaman  it  is  useless  to  recommend 
Beethoven  to  him.  The  Christian  and  the  pagan 
are  alike  infidels  to  each  other,  and  it  is  this  very 
kind  of  intolerance  that  begets  half  of  the  turmoil 
in  the  world.  So  long  as  the  art  diverts  and  does 
not  degrade  we  should  be  lenient,  and  remember, 
as  Dogberry  says,  that  "  All  men  are  not  alike, 
good  neighbor." 

After  leaving  Paris  I  returned  to  London,  where 
I  played  a  long  engagement  at  the  Princess's 
Theater.  Here  I  renewed  an  acquaintance  with 
some  of  my  old  friends,  and  made  a  few  new  ones. 
Dinner-giving  in  London  is  almost  a  fine  art.  I  do 
not  mean  as  to  the  quality  of  the  viands  or  the  dec- 
oration of  the  table, — these  matters  are,  of  course, 
quite  perfect, — but  in  the  nice  judgment  of  the  host 
in  the  selection  of  his  guests.  I  have  seen  a  scien- 
tist, a  statesman,  a  painter,  a  composer,  an  actor, 
and  a  divine  at  the  same  table — each  one  a  leading 
light  in  his  profession.  Not  only  is  this  varied  talent 
selected  for  its  brilliancy,  but  for  the  harmony  with 
which  it  will  unite.  In  the  assembling  of  such  an 
intellectual  group  the  next  care  is  to  dispose  them 
at  the  table.  People  who  have  never  met  before 
are  cunningly  placed  side  by  side  that  they  may 


360  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

converse  together  for  the  first  time;  and  I  have 
often  seen  the  host  and  hostess  nervously  watching 
the  effect  of  their  preconceived  arrangements. 
Sometimes  the  party  at  a  London  dinner  will  con- 
sist chiefly  of  actors  and  dramatic  authors.  Such 
guests  generally  know  each  other,  and  as  there  is 
no  ice  to  break,  the  spirit  and  enjoyment  are  en- 
tered into  at  once. 

I  had  a  memorable  lunch  at  the  Star  and  Gar- 
ter, that  lovely  spot  on  the  banks  of  the  silver 
Thames.  Charles  Kingsley,  Robert  Browning, 
and  George  Augustus  Sala  were  of  the  party. 
Mr.  Browning  surprised  and  delighted  me.  I  was 
surprised  because  he  displayed  a  faculty  I  was  not 
prepared  for.  His  mind  seemed  to  be  stored  with 
that  useful  and  practical  kind  of  knowledge  one 
would  scarcely  expect  to  find  in  a  poet.  If  any 
of  the  company  opened  a  subject,  Mr.  Browning 
knew  more  about  it  than  anybody  else.  Not 
that  he  intruded  his  information ;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  was  given  with  so  much  modesty  and 
good  taste  that  we  were  only  too  glad  to  be 
enlightened  from  such  a  well-spring  of  learning. 
One  of  the  guests,  whose  mind  seemed  to  be 
stored  with  misinformation,  and  who  was  not  so 
retiring  as  the  great  poet,  seeing  that  he  himself 
was  falling  behind  and  losing  ground,  sprang  to 
the  front  with  his  adventures  in  Italy.  He  endeav- 
ored to  take  us  through  the  picture  galleries  and 
describe  their  wonders  ;  but  while  descanting  upon 
the  great  painters  of  the  past,  he  got  the  company 
tangled  up  in  such  a  labyrinth  of  mistakes  that 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  361 

he  had  to  appeal  to  the  poet  to  get  us  out.  The 
latter  came  cheerfully  to  the  rescue,  and  in  doing 
this  had  to  set  our  guide  straight  in  so  many  mat- 
ters in  which  he  had  gone  astray  that  he  retired  in 
confusion  and  did  not  appear  again  upon  the  con- 
versational platform  during  the  evening. 

I  was  fortunate  in  being  placed  next  to  Mr. 
Browning,  and  it  was  delightful  to  talk  to  him,  or 
rather  have  him  talk  to  me.  I  asked  him  how 
he  could  manage  to  go  so  frequently  into  com- 
pany and  yet  preserve  his  health  and  spirits.  He 
told  me  that  he  made  it  a  rule  to  drink  only  one 
kind  of  wine  at  dinner ;  if  he  began  with  sherry,  he 
kept  to  it.  "And  then,"  said  he,  "I  retire  early,  and 
always  get  a  good  night's  rest.  Sleep  is  the  great 
doctor,  young  man "  —  patting  me  gently  on  the 
back.  I  don't  know  which  I  enjoyed  most,  the  pat 
from  the  poet  or  his  calling  me  a  young  man,  for  I 
was  verging  upon  fifty ;  however,  that  is  a  young 
man  in  London. 

A  few  days  after  this  I  received  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Browning,  inviting  me  to  lunch  with  Lord 

C ,  his  lordship's  sister,  and  himself.  I  replied 

that  I  would  be  glad  to  accompany  him,  and  the 
next  day  we  met  by  appointment  and  sallied  forth 

to  call  on  Lord  C and  his  sister.  On  the  way 

he  gave  me  an  account  of  his  meeting  with  Long- 
fellow and  the  pleasant  intimacy  that  had  existed 
between  them.  I  listened  with  national  pride  to 
the  encomiums  he  passed  on  the  writings  and 
character  of  the  American  poet.  These  wise 
and  loving  gentlemen  had  walked  arm  in  arm 


362  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

through  the  quaint  and  sacred  old  haunts  of 
London ;  and  while  Mr.  Browning  recounted  their 
various  rambles  I  thought  as  they  elbowed 
their  way  through  the  streets  how  many  citizens 
of  crowded  London  had  jostled  up  against  them 
unaware  of  the  wisdom  and  learning  that  was 
possessed  by  this  gentle  pair  of  poets  in  double 
harness.  He  told  me  that  on  one  occasion  they 
were  walking  together,  and,  being  overtaken  by 
a  summer  shower,  got  into  a  cab.  The  rain  began 
to  beat  down  heavily,  and  Longfellow  insisted  on 
handing  his  umbrella  out  of  the  window  to  the 
driver.  Browning  told  him  that  he  thought  it  was 
very  kind  and  thoughtful  of  him,  but  quite  unneces- 
sary, as  it  would  be  harder  to  find  a  dry  cabman  in 
London  than  a  wet  one. 

The  quiet  simplicity  of  Lord  C seemed  to 

extend  itself  to  the  entire  household.  The  very 
butler  was  devoid  of  pomposity.  The  fine  old 
mansion  in  which  this  aristocratic  family  resided 
was  homelike  and  cheerful.  The  host  and  hostess 
gave  Mr.  Browning  and  me  an  unostentatious 
welcome. 

The  clubs  of  London  I  know  but  little  of,  having 
visited  only  the  Garrick  and  the  Savage.  The 
pictures  at  the  Garrick  attracted  me  very  much ; 
a  fine  example  by  David  Roberts  and  a  vigorous 
marine  by  Stanfield  —  both  scenic  artists  —  hang 
on  the  walls,  and  character  portraits  of  Garrick, 
Munden,  Knight,  and  a  host  of  theatrical  celeb- 
rities make  the  rooms  exceedingly  interesting. 

Many  of  the  actors,  authors,  and  painters  of 
London  have,  I  think  unwisely,  expended  their 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  363 

earnings  in  building  costly  residences,  where  they 
entertain  their  guests  most  sumptuously.  They 
seem  blind  to  the  fact  that  they  must,  now  and 
forever,  toil  on  that  they  may  keep  up  this  gen- 
erous hospitality.  Of  course  they  naturally  con- 
sole themselves  with  that  old-fashioned  and 
conventional  comfort,  that  should  matters  go  a 
little  wrong  they  will  cut  off  that  expense,  and 
curtail  this  little  elegant  bit  of  extravagance, 
and  so  set  themselves  right  again ;  but  it  is  more 
difficult  to  retrench  than  they  seem  to  realize. 

In  a  great  city  one  would  suppose  that  the 
absence  of  details,  should  one  desire  to  economize, 
would  pass  unnoticed ;  but  this  is  a  mistake. 
London  society  moves  in  little  cliques,  whose  eyes 
are  vigilant  and  notice  at  once  the  slightest  varia- 
tion in  social  entertainments.  The  flavor  of  the 
cigars,  the  brand  of  the  wines,  the  appearance  of 
the  butler,  the  ornamental  decorations  of  the  table, 
and  above  all  the  cuisine,  are  rigidly  criticized,  and 
the  least  retrenchment  is  fatal  to  one's  social 
reputation. 

We  seldom  stop  to  consider  how  hollow  and 
what  a  sham  it  is  to  entertain  those  whom  we  do 
not  care  for,  and  who  do  not  care  for  us.  Is  this 
artificial  nonsense  so  much  coveted  that  we  are  to 
sacrifice  the  comforts  of  our  lives  to  obtain  it? 
What !  live  in  fear  and  anxiety  that  we  may  outdo 
our  neighbor  by  putting  a  more  costly  pair  of  boot- 
tops  on  our  coachman  ?  Burden  ourselves  with  a 
life  of  toil  simply  to  increase  the  pomposity  of 
our  butler  ?  I  am  satisfied  that  domestic  melan- 
choly sets  in  with  the  butler.  He  is  the  melo- 


364  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

dramatic  villain  of  society.  Give  me  a  tidy  girl, 
with  a  clean  calico  frock  and  a  neat  little  white  cap 
— that  's  the  height  of  my  ambition  !  Look  at 
her !  there  she  stands  with  a  cheerful  smile  and  a 
willing  hand,  ready  to  administer  to  your  comfort 
and  laugh  at  your  old  jokes — aye,  though  she  has 
heard  them  fifty  times.  What  a  delightful  audi- 
ence !  I  am  satisfied  that  no  butler  ever  laughs  at 
the  same  joke  twice :  I  have  tried  it. 

To  see  one's  own  name  on  a  card  belonging  to 
another  person  gives  one  quite  a  start.  While  liv- 
ing in  Belsize  Avenue  a  card  was  brought  to  me 
by  the  maid,  with  the  following  inscription  in 
pencil:  "Rev.  Joseph  Jefferson  and  wife."  I  remem- 
bered having  heard  that  there  was  a  first  cousin 
of  my  father's  who  was  a  clergyman  living  in 
Yorkshire.  I  at  once  went  out  to  receive  them. 
Seated  on  the  hall-chair  was  the  old  clergyman, 
and  by  his  side  stood  his  loving  helpmate.  I  say 
loving,  for  the  attitude  of  this,  to  me,  very  interest- 
ing couple  revealed  the  wife's  solicitude  for  her 
husband.  He  was  seated  ;  she  was  standing.  In 
one  hand  she  had  a  large  umbrella  and  her  hus- 
band's broad-brimmed  hat ;  the  other  she  rested 
gently  on  his  shoulder  while  she  regarded  him  with 
a  respectful  affection.  It  seemed  to  me  that  just  a 
moment  before  she  must  have  said  to  him,  "  Now, 
Joseph  dear,  give  me  your  hat  and  do  just  sit 
down,  if  only  for  a  moment ;  it  will  rest  you,  and  I 
am  not  a  bit  tired."  She  was  dressed  in  a  plain 
black  silk  gown,  with  no  superfluous  material  in 
the  skirt,  and  had  on  a  simple  straw  bonnet 


THE     REVKREND    JOSEPH    JEFFERSON. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  365 

about  as  unfashionable  in  shape  as  it  well  could 
be  ;  he,  with  his  quaint-cut  suit  of  black,  his  soft, 
unstarched,  and  amiable-looking  white  cravat  — 
the  group  making  as  complete  a  picture  of  an 
old  English  clergyman  and  his  wife  as  ever  David 
Wilkie  could  have  painted.  They  had  been 
married  many  years,  but  I  fancy  that  his  bent 
figure  had  in  her  eyes  the  grace  of  youth,  and 
the  wrinkles  in  her  loving  face  were  as  dimples 
to  him.  They  had  lived  so  long  together  that 
they  seemed  to  resemble  each  other.  His  face 
was  like  my  father's,  and  reminded  me  of  my 
own.  Surely  his  features  were  cast  in  the  classical 
mold  of  the  Jeffersons  —  not  the  noble  Roman  or 
the  simple  Grecian,  but  the  pure  nut-cracker  ;  or 
as  Sheridan  says,  when  he  traces  the  resemblance 
of  a  certain  lady's  face  to  a  congress  at  the  close 
of  a  general  war,  "  where  the  nose  and  chin  were 
the  only  parties  likely  to  join  issue." 

I  do  not  quite  remember  whether  the  old  clergy- 
man and  his  wife  had  come  up  to  London  especially 
to  see  me  or  not,  but  they  had  certainly  made  it  a 
point  not  to  go  back  to  Yorkshire  without  carrying 
with  them  some  remembrance  of  their  "  American 


cousin." 


The  old  gentleman  asked  me  many  questions 
regarding  our  family,  and  seemed  much  interested 
in  what  I  told  him  of  it.  I  gave  him  an  abridged 
account  of  our  pioneer  wanderings  in  the  West 
and  our  early  struggles  connected  with  it,  and  in 
return  he  told  me  of  his  life  in  Yorkshire  and 
described  the  simple  routine  of  an  English  clergy- 


366  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

man's  life,  referring  now  and  again  to  the  labors  of 
himself  and  helpmate  among  their  poor  parishion- 
ers ;  and  when  he  spoke  of  his  wife  he  would  take 
her  hand  and  look  kindly  in  her  face.  And  she  too, 
I  remember,  asked  me  to  allow  her  to  close  the  win- 
dow, lest  the  draft  might  affect  dear  Joseph's  voice, 
as  he  had  to  preach  upon  the  next  Sunday.  I 
thought  at  times  that  they  looked  at  me  as  though 
they  were  ashamed  of  showing  so  much  solicitude 
for  each  other.  It  was  a  pleasant  sight,  and  made 
one  think  of  what  a  long  life  of  quiet  happiness 
this  cozy  couple  must  have  passed  together. 

After  an  introduction  to  my  wife  and  grown-up 
children,  of  course  the  most  wonderful  baby  in  the 
world  was  brought  down  for  the  inspection  of  its 
new  relatives.  They  seemed  to  take  special  interest 
in  this  particular  cousin, — it  having  been  born  in 
England, — and  rather  chuckled  over  the  fact  that 
America  did  not  have  it  all  its  own  way,  as  their 
little  third  cousin  was  a  "John  Bull";  and  curious- 
ly enough  they  treated  the  matter  with  the  utmost 
seriousness,  insisting  upon  it  that  the  baby  was  a 
British  subject,  and  that  we  could  not  get  over  that, 
do  what  we  would.  We  laughed  at  this,  but  the 
old  man  in  his  great  loyalty  waxed  quite  warm 
over  the  matter.  "No,  sir,  you  cannot  alter  it; 
he  's  an  Englishman ;  for  instance,  now,  he  could 
not  be  President  of  the  United  States,  could  he?" 
"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  am  afraid  that  in  coming  to 
England  previous  to  the  child's  birth  we  did 
perhaps  display  great  lack  of  forethought  in  de- 
priving him  of  that  privilege."  "  Still  he  could 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  367 

be  Prime  Minister  of  England,  could  he  not  ? " 
Of  course  I  could  not  deny  this,  and  mentioned 
that  perhaps  we  might  console  ourselves  in  future 
years  that  though  we  had  lost  for  him  one 
distinguished  honor  we  had  gained  for  him 
another. 

Our  reunion  was  very  pleasant,  and  we  quite 
regretted  it  when  the  time  came  for  them  to  go. 
It  was  a  warm  July  day,  and  the  sun  was  shining 
with  great  heat  upon  them  as  they  passed  down 
the  avenue ;  but  the  careful  wife,  ever  mindful  of 
her  husband's  comfort,  raised  the  huge  umbrella 
over  his  head.  I  had  no  idea  of  its  ample  size 
until  I  saw  it  expanded ;  it  quite  extinguished 
them,  and  was  large  enough  not  only  to  shield  the 
clergyman  and  his  wife  from  the  sun,  but  to  have 
put  his  entire  congregation  into  the  shade. 

The  celebrated  portrait  of  the  Duchess  of 
Devonshire  painted  by  Gainsborough  was  at 
this  time  attracting  much  attention  in  London. 
It  had  lately  been  sold  under  the  hammer  to  the 
Messrs.  Agnew.  These  gentlemen  were  promi- 
nent dealers  in  art,  and  had  paid  10,000  guineas 
for  the  picture.  Mr.  Frith,  who  always  delighted 
in  giving  pleasure  to  his  friends,  sent  me  a  line 
to  say  that  if  I  would  meet  him  at  Agnews's  he 
would  show  me  the  picture,  which,  it  seems,  he 
had  already  seen.  I  was  only  too  glad  to  accept 
the  invitation  to  look  upon  the  painting  of  a 
master;  and  to  have  as  a  companion  a  distin- 
guished artist  of  the  modern  school  was  a  privilege 
not  to  be  lost. 


368  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  had  before  this  seen  several  paintings  by 
Gainsborough.  At  the  Loan  Exhibition  held  at 
the  rooms  of  the  Royal  Academy,  in  this  same 
year,  there  were  two  lovely  portraits  of  departed 
female  royalty  that  breathed  refinement.  Close  to 
these  aristocratic  beauties,  and  in  strong  contrast 
with  them,  was  a  rustic  picture  by  the  same  artist 
called  " Going  to  the  Spring"  —  a  barefooted 
peasant  girl  crossing  a  brook,  with  a  pitcher  in 
her  hand  and  a  young  puppy  hugged  tightly 
to  her  heart.  Gainsborough's  portrait  of  Garrick 
which  I  saw  at  Stratford  was  not  so  pleasing. 
The  eyes  of  the  great  actor  sparkle  with  a  dia- 
mond fire,  but  the  attitude  is  affected,  and  the 
patronizing  air  with  which  he  leans  against 
the  pedestal  is  scarcely  in  good  taste.  He  really 
looks  as  though  he  monopolized  the  bard  entirely, 
and  this  was  too  near  the  truth  to  be  pleasant  for 
other  members  of  the  theatrical  profession ;  for  in 
Garrick's  day  Shakspere  was  only  permitted  upon 
the  stage  of  the  patent  theaters,  the  minor  ones 
not  being  allowed  to  act  his  plays.  Now  it  is 
otherwise,  and  Hamlet  can  be  seen  upon  the  Sur- 
rey side  and  at  the  East  End;  and  Richard  III. 
can  ride  about  Bosworth  Field  on  horseback  at 
Astley's  Circus. 

I  am  here  reminded  of  an  anecdote  of  a  gifted 
tragedian  playing  the  crook-backed  tyrant  and 
bestriding  White  Surrey  at  the  battle.  In  the 
excitement  of  the  fight  in  the  last  scene  he  forgot 
to  dismount  at  the  proper  time,  and  came  prancing 
upon  the  stage  shouting,  "A  horse,  a  horse,  my 
kingdom  for  a  horse  !  " 


AGNES    ROBERTSON. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  369 

The  Duke  of  Gloucester  has  made  me  ungallant 
enough  to  forget  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire ;  so, 
asking  her  Ladyship's  pardon  and  my  readers'  for 
the  digression,  I  will  return  to  the  picture. 

It  was  a  half-length  figure  of  a  perfect  English 
beauty  in  the  full  bloom  of  youth  and  health,  with 
violet  eyes,  and  looking  like  a  June  rose.  The 
broad  hat  with  feathers  that  takes  its  name  from 
the  picture  made  an  effective  background  for  such 
a  face.  The  cherry  lips,  half  open  as  if  about  to 
speak  —  to  think  that  those  lovely  lips  once  kissed 
the  butcher!  The  story  runs  that  her  Ladyship 
was  so  anxious  for  the  election  of  Fox  that  she 
canvassed  the  county  in  person,  and  on  the  trip 
met  with  a  refractory  butcher  who  swore  he  'd 
ne'er  vote  for  Fox  unless  her  Ladyship  would 
give  him  a  kiss.  Whereupon  her  Ladyship  jumped 
from  her  carriage,  and  gave  him  a  bouncing  buss. 
Happy  butcher !  who  would  not  have  envied  thy 
chops  ?  The  resolute  look  of  the  lady  told  of  one 
who  would  kiss  the  butcher,  the  baker,  and  the 
candlestick-maker  if  she  once  had  a  mind.  The 
picture  was  removed  that  day  to  some  gallery 
where  it  was  to  be  exhibited  to  the  public,  as  a 
desire  to  see  the  famous  duchess  was  universal. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  I  was  startled 
by  an  announcement  in  "The  Telegraph"  that 
the  picture  had  been  stolen.  Some  thief  or  mad- 
man, it  is  supposed,  had  concealed  himself  in  the 
gallery  during  the  day,  and  in  the  night  had  cut 
the  picture  from  the  frame,  and  he  and  it  were 
gone  forever.  I  say  forever,  for,  though  it  is  now 
fifteen  years  since  it  disappeared,  no  trace  of  it  has 


370  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

been  found ;  and  I  don't  believe  that  the  death  of 
the  real  duchess,  when  she  was  gathered  to  her 
illustrious  ancestors,  caused  more  stir  in  London 
than  the  loss  of  her  picture. 

Lord owned  a  princely  estate  in  Scotland, — 

a  domain  containing,  I  think,  some  ten  thousand 
acres  of  land, —  situated  amidst  the  most  pictur- 
esque scenery  of  the  Highlands.  Lord  and 

Lady  had  invited  me  to  stay  a  fortnight, 

but  I  found  on  my  arrival  that  the  castle  was  quite 
filled  with  guests,  so  I  made  my  excuses  and  only 
stopped  a  week.  The  whole  of  this  time  was 
passed  in  a  round  of  sporting  excursions  and  pic- 
nics, grouse-shooting  and  salmon-fishing. 

As  Lord came  out  in  the  spacious  hall  to 

welcome  me  he  was  a  picture  —  six  feet  in  height, 
with  a  florid  complexion  and  light  blue  eyes  full  of 
expression,  his  hair  and  beard  of  a  golden  red ; 
and  being  in  complete  Highland  costume  he  looked 
like  a  Scottish  chief  of  the  olden  time.  The  warm 
greeting  given  me  by  this  frank  and  stately  High- 
lander was  so  hearty,  and  so  full  of  unaffected 
hospitality,  that  I  felt  quite  at  home  with  him  at 
once.  In  half  an  hour  I  joined  the  company 
at  dinner. 

The  routine  of  high  life  in  the  country  was 
quite  new  to  me,  and  I  felt  interested  in  observing 
its  comforts  and  its  cares.  Of  course  the  donors 
of  the  feast  get  some  pleasure  in  welcoming  their 
friends  and  relatives ;  but  many  strangers  must 
be  entertained  in  whom  the  host  and  hostess  take 
but  little  interest,  and  they  are  often  obliged  to 
show  civilities  to  people  whom  they  have  met  in 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  371 

the  city  or  at  foreign  courts — diplomats  and  titled 
persons. 

His  Lordship  was  fond  of  farming,  and  I  walked 
with  him  over  the  land  to  see  his  imported  Ameri- 
can machinery  shear  the  fields  of  their  golden 
grain.  He  was  a  capital  shot,  and,  as  his  domain 
was  well  preserved,  we  had  good  sport  with  the 
grouse.  Among  the  guests  there  was  a  remark- 
ably interesting  lady,  a  daughter  of  an  earl.  She 
was  a  queenly  beauty  of  the  Diana  type — witty, 
aristocratic,  haughty,  and  satirical;  of  course  she 
was  surrounded  by  several  butterflies,  who  vied 
with  one  another  in  paying  her  court.  And  I  do 
not  wonder  at  it,  for  she  was  radiant  with  all  those 
attractive  qualities  that  are  bewitching  to  young 
men. 

I  suppose  there  must  have  been  a  homespun 
flavor  in  my  American  manner  that  amused  her, 
for  she  made  a  dead  set  at  quizzing  me.  I  did 
not  detect  it  at  first,  and  answered  some  of  her 
absurd  questions  about  America  quite  innocently. 
She  kept  her  face  so  well  that  I  might  never  have 
discovered  this  but  for  the  idiotic  grin  upon  the 
smooth  face  of  one  of  her  boyish  admirers ;  and 
then  I  felt,  for  the  honor  of  my  country,  that  if  she 
ever  made  another  thrust  at  me  I  would  parry  it  if 
I  could.  I  had  not  long  to  wait ;  for,  emboldened 
by  her  late  success,  she  turned  upon  me  and  said, 
"  By  the  by,  have  you  met  the  queen  lately  ?" 

"  No,  madam,"  I  replied  with  perfect  serious- 
ness; "  I  was  out  when  her  Majesty  called  on 


me." 


372  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

She  colored  slightly  and  then  turned  away,  and 
never  spoke  to  me  again ;  but  I  was  revenged. 

At  Glasgow  I  acted  at  the  Theater  Royal.  This 
place  was  once  under  the  management  of  a  Mr. 
Alexander,  who,  I  believe,  built  the  theater,  and 
his  admiration  for  Shakspere  and  Scott  was 
exhibited  by  placing  their  statues  on  the  sides  of 
the  proscenium  arch ;  but,  as  self-esteem  is  a  noble 
quality  in  human  nature,  the  modest  manager 
displayed  this  virtue  by  placing  a  statue  of  him- 
self in  the  middle. 

I  visited  the  churchyard  of  St.  Mungo,  where 
the  grave  of  the  lamented  Mr.  Alexander  was 
pointed  out  to  me.  The  original  tomb  was  invented 
by  himself  as  a  modest  and  appropriate  tribute 
to  his  own  memory.  It  represents  the  proscenium 
of  a  theater;  the  curtain  has  fallen:  this,  of  course, 
is  a  delicate  suggestion  that  the  life  of  Alexander 
the  Great  has  ended  ;  or  it  might  have  a  more 
sweeping  meaning,  and  one  of  grander  signifi- 
cance, by  inferring  that  in  his  dissolution  the  cur- 
tain had  fallen  on  the  dramatic  world  and  closed 
its  career  forever.  Hamlet  says,  "  Alexander 
died,  Alexander  was  buried,  Alexander  returneth 
to  dust."  Of  course  this  allusion  is  to  another 
gentleman,  inasmuch  as  the  indestructibility  of 
matter  is  in  this  instance  traced  till  we  find  it 
"  stopping  a  bung- hole  " — and  of  course  this  latter 
indignity  could  never  have  happened  to  our  Alex- 
ander of  Glasgow. 

During  the  following  summer  I  lived  at  Morn- 
ingside,  just  a  mile  from  "  Edinboro  Town,"  in  the 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  373 

mansion-house  erected  by  one  Dr.  John  Gregory 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  This 
quaint  old  building  was,  at  the  time  I  occupied  it, 
in  the  possession  of  Miss  Gregory,  a  granddaughter 
of  the  original  owner.  The  house  contained  about 
twenty  rooms,  rambling  and  irregular  in  their  con- 
struction, and  filled  with  antique  furniture  and  pic- 
tures; some  of  the  latter  were  very  fine  portraits 
of  the  family  painted  by  Sir  Henry  Raeburn.  The 
library  contained  many  rare  works,  and  upon  tak- 
ing possession  of  the  house  I  insisted  that  this 
valuable  collection  should  be  sealed  up.  The 
grounds  contained  about  six  acres,  and  were  sur- 
rounded by  a  high  stone  wall ;  all  of  the  old 
residences  at  Morningside,  where  this  mansion  was 
situated,  are  environed  by  these  prison-like  inclo- 
sures.  In  the  days  when  they  were  built  there  is 
no  doubt  that  this  security  was  necessary ;  and  it 
is  a  comforting  sign  of  the  times,  and  an  unmis- 
takable evidence  of  the  improvement  in  the  con- 
duct of  the  world,  that  the  homes  in  the  suburbs  of 
our  great  cities  of  to-day  have  in  many  instances 
scarcely  more  than  a  low  curbstone  to  separate 
them  from  the  highway. 

The  Gregory  mansion  was  an  interesting  old 
house;  the  ivy  had  covered  the  walls  long  ago, 
and  was  now  climbing  upon  the  roof.  The  lawn 
was  shaded  with  fine  old  oaks,  planted  by  the 
original  owner,  and  the  grounds  were  tastefully 
laid  out  and  kept  in  trim  by  an  interesting  Scotch 
gardener.  His  father  and  grandfather  had  been 
servants  in  the  same  house ;  and  he  himself,  then 


374  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

past  seventy  years  of  age,  told  me  of  many  in- 
teresting events  that  had  happened  in  the  auld 
lang  syne. 

Dr.  John  Gregory  had  entertained  within  these 
walls  many  of  the  celebrities  of  his  time.  Byron, 
Jeffrey,  John  Wilson,  and  Burns  had  all  dined  and 
slept  under  this  roof,  and  in  the  after-time  his  son 
had  feasted  Sydney  Smith,  Thackeray,  Dickens, 
and  Washington  Irving.  Upon  a  moonlight  night 
I  have  sat  in  the  shadow  of  a  weird  old  oak  and 
tried  to  fancy  the  forms  of  these  departed  heroes 
roaming,  as  they  must  have  done  in  life,  about 
this  mysterious  place. 

Our  surroundings  have  much  to  do  with  en- 
larging our  thoughts :  just  as  when  standing  on 
an  eminence  we  have  a  more  extended  view,  so  will 
some  hallowed  spot,  filled  with  the  associations  of 
great  men  and  their  noble  work,  inspire  us  with 
a  deep  reverence ;  and  when  I  look  back  upon  the 
time  I  lived  at  Morningside  I  feel  that  I  did  not 
fully  appreciate  the  privilege  of  it,  and  wasted 
much  time  in  commonplace  affairs  that  I  could 
have  used  to  a  better  purpose. 

The  old  Scotch  gardener  was  an  exception  to 
his  class ;  they  are  generally  reticent,  but  he  was 
proud  of  the  Gregory  family,  and  only  too  glad 
to  talk  of  the  wonders  they  had  accomplished, 
the  honors  they  had  gained,  and  the  great  men 
whom  they  had  known  and  entertained.  The 
traditions  of  the  family  had  come  down  to  him 
through  several  generations  of  gardeners,  and  he 
would  recount  the  great  learning  and  the  almost 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  375 

sacrilegious  knowledge  of  one  of  the  Gregorys, 
who,  it  seems,  was  a  great  astronomer:  "He 
kenned  a'thegither  too  much,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  He  was  on  familiar  terms  wi'  the  very  stars 
themsel's,  and  could  ca'  them  by  their  ain  names 
—  Jupiter,  and  Venus,  and  Cupid,  and  the  whole 
clan  o'  them ;  he  kenned  jeist  how  fast  they  were 
ganging,  and  where  they  were  ganging  to :  it  is 
awful  to  think  how  a  great  mon  like  that  could 
dare  to  go  pryin'  into  the  private  affairs  o'  the  Laird 
himselV" 

While  the  old  fellow  delighted  to  chatter  about 
the  public  career  of  the  Gregorys,  he  was  truly 
loyal  to  his  clan,  and  as  dumb  as  an  oyster  upon 
all  private  matters  relating  to  them,  following  the 
advice  of  Burns  to  his  friend : 

But  still  keep  something  to  yourseP 
Ye  scarcely  tell  to  ony. 

The  ivy  vine  in  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland 
adds  materially  to  the  beauty  of  the  scenery ;  all 
of  the  sharp  corners  and  straight  lines  of  the  old 
buildings  are  softened  by  its  luxurious  growth; 
it  piles  itself  up  over  the  walls  of  the  castles  and 
churches  like  rich  green  velvet,  preserving  the  form 
of  the  architecture,  while  it  conceals  the  harder 
lines  beneath ;  but  its  beauty  is  often  enjoyed  at 
the  expense  of  health.  The  house  at  Morningside 
was  damp ;  the  sun  scarcely  ever  shone  upon  it ; 
and  often  during  the  warmest  days  in  summer  a 
cold  chill  would  fall  upon  us  as  we  came  out  of 
the  sunlight  into  the  gloom  of  the  house. 


376  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


My  wife  had  been  ill  for  some  days,  and  we 
were  alarmed  at  her  low  condition.  One  evening 
I  was  sitting  by  her  bedside  reading  when  my  son 
came  to  look  for  some  article  in  one  of  the  closets 
at  the  far  end  of  the  room  ;  he  had  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  and  was  peering  at  something  that  had 
attracted  his  attention  on  the  top  shelf.  Sud- 
denly he  gave  a  start  and  a  half-  suppressed  cry 
of  fear,  and  as  he  turned  his  face  towards  me  I 
saw  that  he  had  grown  quite  pale,  while  his  hair 
seemed  to  stand  on  end  with  fright.  I  was  about 
to  ask  him  what  had  shocked  him,  when  he  made 
a  nervous  motion  for  me  to  be  quiet,  and  leaving 
the  room  hurriedly  beckoned  me  to  follow  him. 
It  was  quite  evident  that  something  in  the  closet 
had  startled  him,  and  that  he  did  not  wish  my  wife 
to  know  what  it  was.  When  we  were  alone  in 
the  entry  he  gave  me  the  light,  saying,  "  Go  back, 
and  look  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  closet."  I  took  the 
candle  from  him,  and,  returning  to  the  room,  sat 
down  to  read,  so  as  not  to  attract  my  wife's  atten- 
tion. She  asked  me  what  had  startled  Tom,  to 
which  I  replied,  "  Oh,  nothing;  it  was  only  some 
of  his  nonsense."  I  waited  anxiously  until  my 
wife  dropped  off  to  sleep.  She  was  in  a  critical 
state  of  health,  and  the  least  excitement  or  shock 
might  have  killed  her;  so  I  took  up  a  light,  and 
standing  upon  a  chair  saw,  to  my  horror  and  sur- 
prise, a  child's  coffin.  It  had  been  put  far  back 
and  well  out  of  sight,  which  accounted  for  no  one 
of  the  family  having  seen  it  before, 

I   took   it  down,  and   walked   stealthily  out  of 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  377 

the  room  with  the  burden  under  my  arm.  I  went 
directly  to  the  library  with  it,  and  calling  my  son 
and  a  friend  who  was  staying  in  the  house  with 
me  I  locked  the  door,  and  called  a  council  as  to 
what  course  it  was  best  to  pursue.  The  coffin 
was  something  over  two  feet  long,  just  about 
the  size  of  one  that  would  contain  a  new-born 
infant.  We  were  somewhat  puzzled,  and  many 
plans  were  discussed.  I  thought  over  the  reti- 
cence of  the  Scotch  gardener  in  all  matters 
connected  with  the  family,  conjuring  up  a  suspi- 
cion that  some  dark  mystery  surrounded  the  house. 
We  next  thought  of  sending  for  the  coroner,  and 
placing  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the  authorities. 
At  last  I  determined  on  opening  the  coffin  myself, 
rather  than  make  any  stir  before  I  was  sure  that 
the  case  was  one  needing  public  attention.  We 
got  a  screw-driver,  and  with  some  considerable 
agitation  we  began  to  open  the  lid,  and  as  we 
removed  it  we  discovered  the  dead  body  of  a 
large  poll-parrot.  We  were  all  dreadfully  sold, 
and  burst  out  laughing  at  the  mystery  and  pre- 
caution in  which  we  had  been  lately  indulging. 
It  all  came  out  the  next  day :  it  was  a  favored  pet 
of  Miss  Gregory,  and  the  gardener  was  to  have 
buried  it  in  her  absence,  but  had  forgotten  it. 

From  Edinburgh  I  went  to  Dublin,  where  I 
acted  under  the  management  of  John  and  Michael 
Gunn,  two  brothers  who  were  jointly  lessees  of  the 
Gaiety  Theater.  My  reception  in  Ireland  was  not 
flattering.  The  attendance  was  slight,  and  the 
applause  delicate.  Many  American  actors  have 


378  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

been  cordially  received  here,  meeting  with  great 
success;  but  from  that  "unknown  cause"  which 
I  have  before  mentioned,  the  Dublin  audience 
either  did  not  understand  or  did  not  care  for  my 
acting.  One  of  the  managers  (I  think  it  was  Mr. 
Michael  Gunn)  seemed  to  have  a  presentiment 
of  my  failure ;  for,  after  witnessing  the  rehearsal, 
he  asked  my  agent  if  he  thought  I  could  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  make  Rip  Van  Winkle  an  Irishman. 
I  thought  at  first  that  this  suggestion  was  meant 
as  a  joke  ;  but  upon  asking  Mr.  Gunn  if  he  were 
serious  he  assured  me  that  he  was,  adding  that  he 
was  quite  certain  that  the  audience  would  under- 
stand and  appreciate  the  character  more  fully  if  I 
would  give  the  performance  a  Hibernian  coloring 
instead  of  a  Dutch  one.  I  told  him  that  if  I  did 
this,  in  order  to  make  an  harmonious  entertain- 
ment it  would  be  necessary  to  alter  the  entire 
play — lay  the  scene  in  Ireland,  and  change  the 
names  of  all  the  characters ;  that  poor  Rip 
would  have  to  be  called  Mist  her  O  Winkle;  and 
to  me  these  alterations  would  be  very  absurd. 
The  manager  argued  that  such  violent  changes 
were  not  necessary,  and  he  only  suggested  that  I 
should  act  the  part  with  just  a  "shlight  taste  of 
the  brogue."  I  told  him  that  a  taste  of  my  brogue 
would  be  so  slight  that  the  audience  would  never 
recognize  the  flavor. 

After  rehearsal,  as  I  came  from  the  stage-door 
into  the  street,  I  was  hailed  in  the  richest  Irish 
accents  I  ever  heard  by  a  bustling,  energetic  man 
whose  manner,  dress,  and  figure  were  particularly 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  379 

striking.  The  whole  appearance  of  this  person 
was  the  embodiment  of  what  is  erroneously  known 
as  the  "  shabby  genteel."  That  he  was  shabby 
there  could  be  no  doubt,  but  his  gentility  seemed 
to  be  questionable,  for  he  had  that  self- satisfied 
and  confident  bearing  which  rarely  shows  itself 
in  a  gentleman.  My  new  acquaintance  was  gotten 
up  in  the  most  elaborate  style.  He  wore  a  faded 
black  dress-coat,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin,  and  a 
black  silk  handkerchief  wrapped  high  about  his 
throat,  while  his  head  was  covered  with  a  drab 
hat,  jauntily  cocked  on  one  side  and  dented  in 
various  directions.  His  nether  garments  consisted 
of  a  pair  of  light  buff-colored  trousers,  worn 
threadbare,  and  strapped  underneath  a  loose  pair 
of  slippers.  On  his  hands  were  a  pair  of  soiled 
yellow  kid  gloves ;  and  with  a  bright,  fresh  rose 
in  his  buttonhole,  and  a  light  bamboo  cane  under 
his  arm,  one  would  have  supposed  that  he  was  an 
eccentric  comedian  of  a  theatrical  company,  in  the 
costume  of  a  dilapidated  swell.  He  welcomed 
me  to  Dublin  with  the  patronizing  air  of  an  ex- 
governor-general,  giving  me  to  understand  that  my 
fame  had  even  reached  him.  He  admonished  me 
to  be  on  my  "mettle,"  and  gave  me  to  understand 
that  a  Dublin  audience  was  a  rare  one  and  was 
considered  the  most  critical  tribunal  before  which 
an  actor  could  be  tried ;  assuring  me  that  if  I 
once  passed  unscathed  through  the  fiery  ordeal  of 
their  judgment  I  might  defy  the  opinion  of  the 
civilized  world,  and  wound  up  his  speech  with 
a  modest  request  that  I  should  favor  him  with 


380  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

free  admission  tickets  for  himself  and  family  during 
my  engagement.  If  I  had  needed  any  further 
assurance  that  the  Dublin  audience  was  a  "rare 
one,"  the  scarcity  of  that  article  during  my  entire 
engagement  would  have  convinced  me  of  that  fact; 
Mr.  Gunn's  prophetic  sagacity  had  discovered  at 
the  rehearsal  that  I  would  fail. 

Belfast  was  our  next  point,  and  here,  strange  to 
say,  the  character  made  a  decided  hit.  Dublin 
and  Belfast  are  only  a  few  hours  distant  from  each 
other,  yet  the  same  entertainment  that  failed  dis- 
mally in  one  place  succeeded  admirably  in  the 
other.  What  was  the  cause  of  this  ?  I  had  been 
only  ten  days  in  Ireland,  and  in  that  time  I  could 
not  have  unconsciously  acquired  a  brogue.  I  have 
concluded,  therefore,  that  I  was  paralyzed  by  the 
wet  blanket  that  Mr.  Gunn  threw  over  me  ;  and 
my  modesty  will  not  allow  me  to  account  for  the 
Dublin  failure  in  any  other  way. 


BOOTH'S    THEATER. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AT    HOME    AGAIN 

Booth's  Theater —  Talks  with  Charles  Mathews 
on  Acting — John  B.  Rice  —  "  The  Rivals"  — 
William  Warren 

I  RETURNED  to  America  in  October,  1876,  and 
began  an  engagement  under  the  management 
of  Augustin  Daly  at  Booth's  Theater.  This 
was  my  fourth  and  last  engagement  in  this  superb 
house,  which  was  demolished  a  few  years  after- 
wards. Unfortunately,  Booth's  Theater,  after  it 
passed  from  the  hands  of  its  original  owner,  did 
not  fall  into  the  possession  of  artistic  people.  I  say 
unfortunately,  because  as  a  place  for  public  amuse- 
ment it  was  quite  perfect ;  no  expense  had  been 
spared  to  make  it  safe  for  the  audience  and  com- 
fortable for  the  actors. 

I  cannot  endure  destruction  of  any  kind,  and  it 
was  a  sorry  sight  to  me  when  one  day  I  stood  by 
and  saw  its  downfall  and  its  ruins.  Busy  men,  in 
a  cloud  of  lime  dust,  were  gutting  the  building  of 

381 


382  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

its  costly  decorations,  and  the  noble  structure, 
which  should  have  remained  as  a  monument  to  the 
distinguished  actor  who  sacrificed  a  fortune  in  build- 
ing it,  was  being  pulled  down.  In  a  few  months  it 
gave  place  to  the  most  unsightly  dry-goods  box  of 
a  store  that  could  well  be  imagined.  It  is  a  great 
pity  that  it  could  not  have  been  rescued. 

My  first  engagement  in  St.  Louis,  since  the 
memorable  season  when  as  a  youth  I  was  hissed 
from  the  stage,  was  played  at  Beagle's  Theater. 
The  stage-manager  was  my  old  friend  James  Bur- 
nett. We  had  acted  together  as  far  back  as  1854 
at  the  Museum  in  Baltimore,  and  afterwards,  as  I 
have  said  before,  we  were  in  the  stock  company 
of  Laura  Keene  during  the  panic  of  1857. 

Overtures  were  made  to  me  from  the  directors  of 
the  Cincinnati  Dramatic  Festival  to  appear  with 
my  company  in  the  comedy  of  "The  Rivals."  I 
declined,  without  giving  my  reasons  for  so  doing ; 
for  I  knew  that  any  explanation  I  could  make 
would  be  unsatisfactory  to  the  committee,  as  my 
objections  pointed  to  the  immense  size  of  the  hall 
in  which  the  entertainment  was  given,  and  the 
affair  had  progressed  so  far  that  it  was  too  late  for 
argument,  or  the  adoption  of  any  suggestions  that 
would  conflict  with  the  ideas  of  the  committee.  I 
was  not  present  at  the  Festival,  but  I  am  told 
that  there  were  many  mishaps,  both  of  a  serious 
and  a  comic  nature,  during  the  week's  entertain- 
ment. Unforeseen  accidents  would  naturally  occur 
in  so  extensive  an  enterprise  in  which  numerous 
actors  and  auxiliaries  were  brought  together  and 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  383 

marshaled  with  but  little  discipline  and  under 
inexperienced  management.  It  is  reported  that 
during  the  performance  of  "Julius  Caesar"  matters 
went  fearfully  astray,  and  were  in  one  instance 
literally  wrong  end  foremost,  so  that  when  Mark 
Antony\>vfr\.  forward  to  uncover  the  serene  features 
of  the  departed  general  he  discovered  only  the 
turned-up  toes  of  "  Imperious  Caesar"  to  the  as- 
tonished gaze  of  his  constituents. 

Grand  operas,  or  spectacular  plays,  where  cho- 
ruses, marches,  and  ballets  are  prominent  fea- 
tures of  the  entertainment,  require  a  large  theater 
to  give  them  full  effect;  but  a  comedy,  wherein 
wit  and  subtle  action  are  combined,  must  lose 
force  in  a  wilderness  of  space.  A  theater  of  great 
magnitude  may  permit  a  prima-donna  to  chant 
her  woes,  or  a  fat  basso  to  bellow  forth  remorse, 
or  a  long  line  of  cotton-velvet  lords  and  ladies  to 
attend  a  forced  marriage  ceremony,  with  consid- 
erable effect.  Richmond  could  overcome  Richard, 
Mark  Antony  harangue  the  citizens  of  Rome,  or 
even  Hamlet  exhibit  terror  at  the  appearance  of 
his  father's  ghost,  and  suffer  but  little  by  the 
dimensions,  but  Benedick  and  Beatrice  must  be 
cheek  by  jowl  with  the  audience  as  well  as  with 
each  other.  If  one  is  obliged  by  circumstances 
to  act  in  a  larger  theater  than  one  is  accustomed 
to,  the  volume  of  the  performance  should  be 
proportionately  increased. 

Charles  Mathews  once  told  me  that  he  was 
charmed  to  act  in  the  Madison  Square  Theater 
(then  called  the  Fifth  Avenue),  as  the  stage  was 


384  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

so  constructed  that  he  felt  as  if  he  were  playing 
in  a  drawing  room — all  his  lines  told.  He  said 
that  the  slightest  twinkle  in  his  eye  seemed  to 
make  a  point.  "  I  acted  at  the  Boston  Theater 
one  engagement,"  he  said,  "and  I  never  will 
again.  Why,  I  might  just  as  well  have  played 
on  the  Common  for  all  the  effect  I  created.  You 
have  just  finished  an  engagement  in  that  grave- 
yard of  comedies,  and  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  the  delicate  points  of  the  characters  hit  with 
the  same  force  as  they  do  in  a  small  theater?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  I;  "they  lose  much 
strength,  but  by  enlarging  the  execution  the  same 
effect  is  almost  accomplished." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  enlarging  the  execu- 
tion?" he  inquired. 

"I  mean,"  I  replied,  "that  a  portrait  may  be 
painted  the  exact  size  of  life  if  it  is  to  hang  in  a 
drawing-room,  where  it  will  be  nearly  on  a  line 
with  the  people  who  will  look  at  it ;  but  when 
designed  for  a  panel  to  be  set  in  the  walls  of  a 
large  hall,  or  to  be  placed  at  an  extra  height, 
the  artist  should  increase  the  size  in  accordance 
with  the  distance  from  which  it  is  to  be  viewed ; 
and  though  he  must  preserve  the  proportions,  the 
details  should  be  suppressed,  and  the  strong  and 
simple  lines  that  give  character  should  be  brought 
out  with  perfect  clearness." 

If  in  a  picture  gallery  we  see  a  work  that  attracts 
us  we  can  move  forward  or  backward  so  as  to 
reach  the  point  from  which  the  artist  intended  his 
picture  to  be  viewed  :  if  it  is  broadly  painted,  we 


\ 


JOHN     GILBERT     AS     "  SIR     PETER     TEAZLE." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  385 

retreat ;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  treatment  is 
minute  and  delicate,  we  examine  it  closely. 

Millet  and  Meissonier  should  be  looked  at  from 
two  different  points ;  but  in  a  theater  the  audience 
cannot  shift  their  positions.  The  actor  therefore 
must  go  to  them  ;  and,  moreover,  he  should  average 
his  strength  so  that  while  it  is  sufficiently  powerful 
to  reach  those  who  are  distant  it  must  not  be  for- 
cible enough  to  offend  those  who  are  near.  He 
should  take  sufficient  time  to  allow  those  who  are 
slow  of  apprehension  to  digest  his  work,  and  while 
so  doing  be  careful  to  interest  others  who  catch  the 
point  at  once,  else  the  latter  will  be  wearied  by  the 
delay. 

Again  the  painter,  the  musician,  and  the  writer 
have  a  direct  following, —  generally  from  a  class 
whose  taste  and  understanding  are  pretty  evenly 
balanced, — whereas  a  theater  is  divided  into  three 
and  sometimes  four  classes,  the  prices  of  admission 
to  a  certain  extent  indicating  their  intelligence ; 
consequently  the  law  of  average  must  be  well  con- 
sidered, so  that  the  entertainment  shall  strike  a  bal- 
ance and  hit  with  equal  force  the  different  grades 
that  confront  it. 

But  to  return  to  Mathews.  He  took  great  en- 
joyment in  what  might  be  called  intellectual  trifles, 
particularly  those  of  his  own  creation,  and  had 
much  talent  in  sketching  grotesque  faces,  and 
writing  chatty  letters  and  comic  verses ;  and  as  he 
would  spend  days  together  in  scribbling  his  amus- 
ing nonsense,  the  knack  for  this  kind  of  light 
literature  was  always  in  a  high  state  of  cultivation. 


386  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  once  traveled  with  him  from  London  to  Edin- 
burgh on  the  lightning  express  train  called  the 
"Flying  Scotchman."  He  had  supplied  himself 
with  pencils  and  paper,  and  as  soon  as  the  train 
started  began  sketching  away  with  all  the  delight 
of  an  enthusiastic  young  artist,  though  he  was  at 
this  time  over  seventy  years  of  age.  He  became 
absorbed  in  his  work,  which  he  continued  for  some 
time,  interrupted  only  by  an  occasional  delicate  bit 
of  profanity  at  the  jolting  of  the  "  Scotchman," 
which,  he  said,  seemed  to  be  dancing  a  Highland 
reel  over  the  rails.  After  he  became  weary  of 
drawing  he  applied  himself  to  the  writing  of  a 
comic  song,  the  theme  of  which,  he  said,  had 
haunted  him  all  the  night  before.  He  called  it 
the  "  Mad  Arithmetician,"  and  it  was  filled  with 
an  absurd  mixture  of  addition,  multiplication,  and 
the  Rule  of  Three.  As  each  verse  was  finished 
he  would  insist  upon  my  laying  down  the  book 
I  was  interested  in  to  listen  to  his  rhyme.  Then, 
of  course,  I  had  to  give  him  a  round  of  applause, 
and  off  he  would  go  again,  perfectly  delighted 
with  what  he  had  done  and  I  had  praised.  In 
fact,  I  think  he  craved  the  approbation  of  his 
friends  more  than  he  did  that  of  the  public. 

I  once  dined  with  him  in  London  with  Mr.  Planche 
and  Harry  J.  Byron,  two  favorite  burlesque  writers, 
and  certainly  I  never  listened  to  brighter  conversa- 
tion than  I  did  on  that  occasion.  I  wish  I  could 
remember  one-half  of  it,  or,  what  would  have  been 
still  better,  that  I  had  put  it  down  in  writing, 
though  to  have  done  so  I  must  have  been  an 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  387 

accomplished  stenographer.  At  one  time  I  re- 
member the  conversation  turned  upon  the  novel  of 
"  Adam  Bede."  Mathews  said  it  had  no  attraction 
for  him,  for  it  was  not  possible  that  he  could  feel 
interested  in  a  virtuous  carpenter.  "  Perhaps," 
said  Byron,  "you  have  more  admiration  for  the 
virtue  of  the  opposite  sex."  "What  do  you  call 
the  opposite  sex  to  a  carpenter?"  said  Mathews. 
"A  joiner,"  said  Planche  before  Byron  had  time 
to  reply. 

Charles  Mathews  was  a  natural-born  philos- 
opher; he  looked  upon  life  in  a  plain,  practical, 
and  cheerful  way,  always  making  the  best  of  the 
worst,  having  no  regrets  for  the  past  and  great 
hopes  for  the  future.  By  many  he  was  thought 
to  be  cold  and  selfish ;  I  do  not  think  he  was  so. 
His  cool,  gay  manner,  which  was  perfectly  natural 
to  him,  gave  one  the  idea  that  he  was  devoid  of 
feeling;  but  a  circumstance  that  occurred  in  con- 
nection with  myself  proves  quite  the  contrary. 

It  was  arranged  that  he  should  spend  a  week 
with  me  in  the  country  for  the  purpose  of  trout- 
fishing,  sketching,  and  chatting  over  matters  con- 
nected with  art ;  our  conversations  upon  this  latter 
subject  usually  ended  in  highly  exciting  arguments, 
for  we  seldom  agreed  in  our  ideas  of  the  stage. 
Well,  he  arrived  in  due  time,  and  we  spent  the 
first  morning  on  the  banks  of  a  trout-stream  — 
pleasantly  enough  except  that  there  was  a  cloud 
hanging  over  my  head  that  made  me  rather  dull ; 
he  noticed  this,  and  asked  me  what  was  the  matter 
and  why  I  was  more  serious  than  usual.  I  told 


388  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

him  that  the  next  day  was  to  be  an  eventful  one 
to  me,  and  that  he  would  have  to  excuse  my 
absence  for  a  week,  as  I  should  be  imprisoned 
in  a  dark  room  and  denied  communication  with 
any  one.  Of  course  he  was  surprised  at  this,  so 
I  explained  that  I  was  threatened  with  blindness, 
and  that  an  oculist  would  arrive  on  the  following 
day  for  the  purpose  of  performing  an  operation  on 
one  of  my  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  horror- 
stricken,  and  was  as  pale  as  death.  "  What,"  said 
he,  "and  have  you  invited  me  here  to  enjoy  my- 
self, knowing  that  you  were  to  undergo  a  surgical 
operation  ?  " 

Of  course  I  told  him  that  when  the  invitation 
was  made  I  had  no  idea  of  the  impending  trouble, 
but  had  refrained  from  making  any  alteration  in 
the  date  of  his  visit,  thinking  that  he  would 
amuse  himself  about  the  place  till  I  could  join  him. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  he,  taking  my  hand,  while 
the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  "you  can't  imagine 
how  you  have  shocked  me.  Let  me  go  at  once; 
I  could  not  stay  under  this  roof  while  you  were 
being  cut  and  maimed;  it  is  too  dreadful  to 
think  of." 

His  manner  was  perfectly  sincere.  There  was 
not  the  slightest  suspicion  of  sham  in  it,  nor 
was  it  only  the  horror  of  the  idea, — though,  of 
course,  this  affected  him, —  but  a  sincere  sym- 
pathy for  me ;  so  within  an  hour  he  had  departed. 
I  may  mention  here  that  the  operation,  under 
the  skillful  hands  of  Dr.  Reuling,  was  entirely 
successful,  and  that  I  have  never  had  any  trouble 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  389 

with  my  sight  since  that,  to  me,  most  eventful 
time. 

I  have  often  been  taxed  with  idleness  for  not 
studying  new  parts  and  adding  them  to  my  re*per- 
toire.  The  list  of  plays  that  I  have  acted  of  late 
years  is  certainly  a  very  short  one,  and  the  critic 
who  becomes  weary  of  witnessing  them  over  and 
over  again  naturally  protests  against  their  con- 
stant repetition.  Setting  aside  the  fact  that  every 
one  must  be  the  best  judge  of  how  to  conduct  his 
own  affairs,  there  are  other  matters  connected  with 
the  course  I  have  pursued  that  may  have  escaped 
the  attention  of  those  who  have  rated  me  for  my 
lack  of  versatility  ;  and  reference  to  a  conversation 
between  Charles  Mathews  and  myself  on  this  very 
subject  may  serve  to  illustrate  what  I  mean.  We 
were  good-humoredly  quizzing  each  other  about 
our  different  styles  of  acting,  when  he  rallied  me 
somewhat  after  this  fashion : 

"  You  call  yourself  a  comedian,"  said  he.  "  Why, 
you  can  only  play  one  part.  You  are  the  prince 
of  dramatic  carpet-baggers,  and  carry  all  your 
wardrobe  in  a  gripsack.  Look  at  that  huge  pile 
of  trunks  —  mine,  sir,  mine  !  Examine  my  list 
of  parts !  Count  them  —  half  a  hundred,  at  the 
very  least;  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self. Where  is  your  versatility  ?  " 

"My  dear  Charlie,"  said  I,  "you  are  confound- 
ing wardrobe  with  talent.  What  is  the  value  of 
a  long  bill  of  fare  if  the  stuff  is  badly  cooked? 
You  change  your  hat,  and  fancy  you  are  playing 
another  character.  Believe  me,  it  requires  more 


390  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

skill  to  act  one  part  fifty  different  ways  than  to 
act  fifty  parts  all  the  same  way."  And  here  we 
ended  our  rather  comical  argument. 

Charles  Mathews  was  playing  an  unsuccessful 
engagement,  so  far  as  numbers  were  concerned, 
at  the  Boston  Theater.  He  was  a  guest  at  No.  2 
Bulfinch  Place;  and,  being  quaint  and  old  fash- 
ioned in  his  tastes,  relished  with  many  of  us 
our  late  suppers  in  the  old  kitchen.  One  evening 
after  the  performance,  with  all  that  light  and  brisk 
manner  which  was  so  characteristic  of  this  antique 
youth,  he  exclaimed  to  us  who  were  already  attack- 
ing the  supper,  "Waiting  for  me,  I  see.  Well, 
that  is  kind.  What  a  magnificent  pile  of  lobsters  ! 
Looks  like  one  of  the  pyramids.  Rather  fresher. 
Touched  up  for  the  occasion,  I  dare  say."  If  ever 
there  was  an  aristocratic  democrat  it  was  this 
merry,  irreverent,  elegant  man.  He  could  shake 
hands  with  a  prince  and  crack  jokes  with  a  butler 
at  the  same  moment,  while  the  potentate  and  the 
servant  would  both  think  him  quite  on  their  own 
level.  After  he  had  seated  himself  the  usual  query 
that  one  actor  generally  puts  to  another  after  the 
play :  "  Well,  and  how  was  the  house  to-night, 
Mr.  Mathews?"  "Splendid,  splendid!  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  a  finer  house,  only  there  was 
nobody  in  it.  Well,  when  I  say  nobody,  I  don't 
quite  mean  that.  Of  course  there  was  —  well, 
myself  for  instance,  and  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  the  company  (the  old  man  did  n't  know  a  line, 
by  the  by) ;  and  then  there  were  the  gentlemen  of 
the  orchestra ;  and  then  the  ushers  too ;  I  must  n't 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  391 

forget  them,  though  they  really  had  done  nothing 
worth  remembering.  Oh,  there  may  have  been, 
just  here  and  there,  you  know,  a  few  dismal  indi- 
viduals, but  they  were  so  far  apart  that  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  count  them.  I  verily  believe  that  if 
I  had  fired  off  a  cannon,  loaded  to  the  muzzle  with 
grape-shot,  point-blank  at  the  middle  of  the  par- 
quet I  should  not  have  wounded  a  critic ;  and  that 
would  have  been  hardly  fair,  considering  how  often 
they  have  wounded  me." 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  all  through  this 
speech,  which  was  given  with  superb  gravity  till 
the  end,  when  there  was  a  round  of  applause  such 
as  I  believe  he  had  not  received  during  his  whole 
engagement.  From  what  I  remember  of  Mathews 
I  feel  quite  sure  that  he  enjoyed  making  such  a 
speech  and  receiving  the  approbation  of  his  com- 
rades more  than  he  would  have  done  in  acting  a 
fine  part  to  a  crowded  house.  "Hello!"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  there  's  some  one  missing.  Where  's 
Povey?"  Mr.  John  Povey,  I  should  mention,  was 
the  agent  of  Mathews,  and  came  over  from  London 
with  that  gentleman  ostensibly  to  look  after  the 
financial  affairs  of  the  star.  "  I  hope  you  have  n't 
poisoned  him  in  my  absence,"  said  he  ;  "  for  he  's 
the  best-natured,  kindest-hearted,  useless  old  fellow 
that  ever  lived.  It 's  his  business  to  look  after  the 
money  matters  in  front  of  the  house,  but  during 
the  time  he  ought  to  be  there  I  find  him  asleep  in 
my  dressing-room.  I  do  hope  you  have  n't  poisoned 
him."  While  he  was  disctfssing  the  merits  and 
dements  of  his  agent  there  came  a  ring  at  the 


392  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

door-bell.  "That  's  John  now.  Don't  say  I  'm 
here ;  just  draw  him  out  for  me."  And  in  a  moment 
Mathews  had  opened  the  door  that  led  to  the  cellar 
and  disappeared.  Enter  Povey.  "Hello!"  said 
John.  "Has  n't  Mathews  come  yet?" — looking 
round  the  table.  "  Well,  you  see  he  is  not  here," 
said  one  of  the  party.  "  Ah  !  just  like  him.  He 
sent  me  in  front  to  count  up  the  house  and  promised 
to  wait  for  me.  Then  he  pops  off.  I  thought 
certainly  to  find  him  here.  I  shall  go  back 
to  England ;  I  won't  be  bothered  in  this  way 
looking  after  him."  Then  came  the  old  question, 
"How  was  the  house,  Povey?"  "Oh,  bad,  bad! 
Wretched !  They  don't  want  him  at  all.  He  's 
too  old  fashioned.  All  very  well  twenty  years  ago. 
There  's  no  fun  left  in  him."  Whereupon  Mathews 
popped  his  head  out  of  the  door,  and  glaring 
comically  at  Povey  exclaimed,  "  Is  n't  there,  John? 
Well,  what  do  you  think  of  this  for  a  bit  of  fun, 
eh  ? "  If  there  had  been  a  trap  in  the  kitchen 
floor  I  think  we  should  have  found  Povey  at  the 
bottom  of  the  cellar  the  next  minute.  It  certainly 
was  the  most  cruel  joke  that  ever  was  perpetrated. 
Povey  was  overcome  with  mortification,  and 
Mathews  made  the  very  cups  and  saucers  on  the 
mantelpiece  vibrate  with  his  laughter. 

John  B.  Rice  was  a  connection  of  mine  by 
marriage,  having  been  united  to  my  cousin  Miss 
Mary  Anne  Warren,  sister  of  William  Warren,  the 
comedian,  and  of  Harry  Warren,  the  theatrical 
manager  of  Buffalo.  Mr.  Rice  was  a  prominent 
citizen  of  Chicago,  having  been  at  one  time  its 


CHARLES    J.    MATHEWS     AS     "TIM." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  393 

theatrical  manager,  its  mayor,  and  afterwards  a 
Representative  in  Congress.  Those  who  remem- 
ber this  wise  and  honorable  man,  whose  life  was 
devoted  to  usefulness,  will  recall  the  valuable 
services  he  rendered  to  his  adopted  State  and 
city,  and  to  those  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 
The  conduct  of  his  life  was  simple  and  dignified, 
and  he  received  the  smiles  and  frowns  of  fortune 
with  an  equal  bearing,  and  was  ever  ready  to 
assist  the  needy  with  either  his  purse  or  counsel. 
Contented  and  cheerful,  I  scarcely  ever  saw  him  look 
grave  except  when  contemplating  the  prospect  of 
another  one's  misfortune.  He  was  liberal,  but  wisely 
prudent,  and  often  rated  me  for  my  extravagance. 
He  once  said  to  me,  "  You  're  a  young  man  now, 
with  an  extra  large  family,  and  it  behooves  you  as 
a  duty  to  that  family  to  save  some  of  your  earn- 
ings; and  I  don't  believe  you  do."  I  told  him  that 
I  thought  he  did  me  an  injustice.  I  acknowledged 
that  I  was  making  money,  but  I  contended  that  I 
had  invested  it.  "  Listen  to  this  young  man  talk. 
He  buys  a  large  plantation  in  the  South  with 
nothing  left  of  the  sugar-house  but  the  chimney, 

I  all  the  fences  and  everything  in  a  dilapidated 
condition,  takes  his  family  down  to  this  wonderful 
place,  isolates  them  from  the  world,  lives  in  a 
tumble-down  house  that  he  has  to  prop  up  with 
logs,  shoots  half  a  dozen  wild  ducks,  fancies  that 
he  's  enjoying  himself,  and  then  calls  it  an  invest- 
ment." I  ventured  to  suggest  that  perhaps  the 
orange  groves  in  time  might —  "Orange  groves  ! 
What  do  you  know  about  orange  groves?  The 


394  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

negroes  steal  your  oranges,  don't  they?"  I  could 
not  help  admitting  that  a  few  had  been  missed. 
"  Ah  !  quite  likely.  You  had  better  buy  United 
States  4's  registered,  and  get  out  of  those  orange 
groves  as  soon  as  possible.  You  '11  make  more 
money  by  acting  than  you  will  by  oranges." 

When,  some  years  afterwards,  my  son  informed 
me  that  he  received  from  St.  Louis  for  a  large 
shipment  of  this  delicious  fruit,  after  deducting 
expenses,  three  two-cent  postage  stamps,  I  con- 
cluded that  Uncle  John  was  about  right.  I  recall 
his  smile  —  and  what  a  smile  it  was !  —  when  I 
told  him  of  this  disastrous  commercial  transaction. 

John  Rice  and  Edwin  Forrest  had  been  friends 
for  many  years,  but  their  intimacy  had  been 
broken  off  by  the  frankness  of  one  and  the  ill 
temper  of  the  other.  Forrest,  it  seems,  wanted 
some  information  or  assistance  from  Rice  in 
connection  with  a  lawsuit  that  was  at  one  time 
creating  much  annoyance  to  the  tragedian.  Rice 
declined  to  give  it  or  to  meddle  in  the  matter,  as 
he  deemed  Forrest  in  some  respects  at  fault  and 
had  the  courage  to  tell  him  so.  This  annoyed 
the  old  actor,  who  never  forgave  an  affront.  To 
differ  with  him  as  to  the  lawsuit  was  to  make  an 
enemy  of  him ;  but  when  a  matter  of  right  and 
wrong  was  to  be  considered  John  Rice  was  a 
Brutus,  and  would  decide  the  matter  according 
to  his  honest  belief,  regardless  of  the  opinion  of 
friend  or  foe. 

Among  Rice's  old  acquaintances  was  a  leader 
of  the  orchestra,  one  John  C .  Quite  a 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  395 

musical  genius  was  C ,  and  a  great  char- 
acter. He  was  a  perfect  know-all ;  no  subject, 
either  artistic,  musical,  or  scientific,  could  be 
broached  in  his  presence  on  which  he  did  not  at 
once  present  himself  as  an  authority.  If  a  fast 

horse  was  mentioned    C had  a  father  or  an 

uncle  who  owned  one  that  could  distance  the 
animal  in  question  with  ease.  Should  any  one 
venture  to  give  an  account  of  a  remarkable  storm 
where  the  hailstones  were  as  large  as  hens'  eggs, 
the  old  leader  was  down  on  him  with  goose  eggs 
at  once.  On  a  certain  Sunday  afternoon  John 
Rice  and  a  party  of  his  friends  were  sitting  on  the 
back  porch  of  his  house,  listening  to  some  of  the 

marvelous  experiences  of  C ,   when  the  host, 

getting  a  little  tired  of  these  wonders,  exclaimed : 

"  C ,  you  seem   to  be    an  authority  on  most 

matters ;  now  I  want  your  solution  of  a  curious 
fact  that  is  staring  us  in  the  face.  Look  at  that 
apple  tree  over  the  fence" — pointing  to  one  in 
the  orchard  at  the  back  of  the  house.  "  You  see 
it  has  no  apples  on  it,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  trees 
are  full  of  fruit;  now  how  do  you  account  for 

that  ?  "    C ran  his  eye  over  the  orchard  with 

a  profound  look,  and  rising  slowly  from  his  seat 
mounted  the  fence,  let  himself  down  upon  the 
other  side  with  as  scientific  an  air  as  the  per- 
formance would  admit  of,  and  going  down  upon 
his  knees  began  to  examine  the  roots  of  the  bar- 
ren tree.  The  company  during  all  this  time  were 
watching  the  proceeding  with  becoming  gravity. 
C ,  having  cut  off  a  piece  of  the  bark  from 


396  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  tree,  wiped  his  eye-glasses  and  examined  the 
specimen  with  great  care.  At  last  he  smiled  with 
a  placid  kind  of  triumph  and  exclaimed,  "Ah!  I 
thought  so."  Again  climbing  the  fence,  he  re- 
turned to  the  group  who  had  been  watching  him 
and  said :  "  Now  observe.  You  see  that  gray 
color  on  the  edge  of  the  bark  ? "  They  did. 
"Well,  that  is  called  fungi  mortem,  and  when- 
ever that  deadly  sign  appears  at  the  root  of  an 
apple  tree  it  never  bears  fruit." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  quite  right  about  it," 
said  Rice;  "for  that  tree  was  full  of  apples  yester- 
day, but  the  owner  came  this  morning  and  gathered 
them." 

There  was  a  shout  of  laughter,  and  C was 

dumfounded.  It  was  a  dreadful  blow,  and  it  had 
the  effect  of  curtailing  the  scientific  discourses  of 
C for  some  time. 

For  many  years  I  had  remarked  a  growing 
disinclination  on  the  part  of  the  general  public 
to  listen  to  dialogue  unless  it  revealed  the  plot  of 
the  play  or  abounded  in  easily  understood  wit. 
The  question  may  be  asked,  Why  should  this  be  ? 
Is  not  the  audience  of  to-day  as  intelligent  as 
that  of  a  hundred  years  ago?  This  may  be  so, 
but  by  degrees  it  has  been  accustomed  to  a  supply 
of  entertainments  for  the  eye  rather  than  for  the 
ear,  and  like  a  child  who  has  been  lately  fed  upon 
sugar-plums,  it  has  lost  its  taste  for  daintier  mor- 
sels. Our  modern  theatrical  managers  have 
recognized  this  demand,  and  embellish  even  their 
most  classical  productions  with  splendid  scenery, 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON    AS    "BOB    ACRES." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  397 

magnificent  costumes,  and  mechanical  contri- 
vances. Dramatic  authors  are  alive  to  it  also, 
and  seldom  introduce  poetical  speeches  or  philo- 
sophical discussions  into  their  works,  confining 
themselves  to  action  or  to  the  realistic  representa- 
tion of  local  pictures  with  which  the  public  eye 
is  familiar.  The  monthly  magazines  and  journals 
are  filled  with  splendid  illustrations,  and  even  the 
daily  papers  crowd  into  their  columns  crude  and 
hastily  drawn  pictures  of  current  events.  It  is  no 
disparagement  to  say  this  ;  on  the  contrary  the 
supply  is  in  legitimate  accordance  with  the  de- 
mand, for  it  is  both  wise  and  useful  to  minister  to 
pronounced  if  not  immoral  public  desire. 

With  these  facts  clearly  before  me  I  set  about 
altering  and  condensing  Sheridan's  comedy  of 
"The  Rivals."  "The  School  for  Scandal"  has 
always  been  considered  the  finer  play  of  the  two, 
and  in  many  respects  it  is  so,  but  I  felt  that  there 
was  no  character  in  this  play  to  which  I  could 
do  justice;  and  though  as  a  literary  work  "The 
School  for  Scandal "  is  undoubtedly  superior  to 
its  companion,  I  consider  "The  Rivals"  to  be  the 
more  effective  dramatic  production. 

That  two  such  comedies  should  have  been 
produced  within  a  couple  of  years  by  a  mere 
youngster  must  always  remain  among  the  won- 
ders of  dramatic  composition.  As  "The  Rivals" 
bears  the  fresh  impress  of  youth,  one  can  com- 
prehend the  fact  that  it  was  written  by  a  mere 
boy;  but  the  "School  for  Scandal"  smacks  of 
matured  age  and  ripe  experience,  dealing  as  it  does 


398  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

with  intrigue,  worldliness,  and  almost  actionable 
defamation  of  character.  Yet  these  two  prodigies 
were  born  but  a  short  time  apart,  and  were  the 
offspring  of  the  same  parent.  The  greatest  won- 
der is  that  being  almost  twins  there  should  be 
such  a  slight  resemblance  between  them. 

The  artificial  quality  of  "  The  School  for  Scan- 
dal "  has  been  complained  of  by  some  critics,  but 
it  should  be  remembered  that  the  scene  of  the 
comedy  is  laid  in  town  and  takes  place  during  the 
season  of  fashionable  entertainment;  the  quaint 
society  of  high  life  during  the  middle  of  the  last 
century  was,  according  to  the  history  and  pictures 
of  the  period,  extravagantly  artificial.  Hogarth's 
belles  and  beaux  strut  through  the  Strand  with 
dainty  step  and  arms  akimbo  ;  the  old  fop  takes  his 
pinch  of  snuff  with  the  grotesque  air  of  a  dancing- 
master.  If  in  the  play,  therefore,  the  characters 
remind  us  of  figures  in  Dresden  china,  they  are 
poised  with  such  grace  that  we  pardon  their  lack 
of  warmth ;  for  if  actors  are  the  "  abstract  and 
brief  chronicles  of  the  time,"  an  artificial  period 
could  not  be  depicted  if  this  quality  were  wanting. 
The  play  does  not  seem  to  be  intended  to  excite 
our  sympathies,  but  rather  to  challenge  our  intel- 
ligence. We  must  enjoy  the  quarrels  of  Lady 
Teazle  and  Sir  Peter  Teazle,  though  we  may  not 
care  who  gets  the  better  of  it. 

It  has  been  objected  also  that  many  of  the 
characters  talk  too  brilliantly,  the  servants  particu- 
larly, their  wit  being  beyond  their  station.  But 
an  author  can  easily  bear  the  censure  that  taxes 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  399 

him  with  having  written  too  well.  "  The  School 
for  Scandal"  at  the  time  in  which  it  was  written 
must  have  been  quite  perfect ;  its  fault  now  grows 
out  of  the  fact  that  the  present  taste  considers  it 
too  coarse  to  be  acted  in  its  original  form.  The 
theme  itself,  too,  is  somewhat  indelicate.  An 
intrigue  runs  through  the  plot,  and,  though  it 
terminates  innocently,  while  it  is  in  progress  it  has 
an  unpleasant  suggestion,  so  that  however  much 
of  the  language  may  be  omitted  it  can  have  but 
little  effect  upon  the  action.  No  such  charge  can 
be  laid  to  "The  Rivals,"  for  after  the  excision  of 
a  dozen  lines  there  remains  a  pure  dramatic 
production.  There  is  a  rural  flavor  about  it  too, 
imparted  by  the  introduction  of  Bob  Acres  and 
his  old  and  attached  servant  David,  that  warms 
the  wit  with  a  glow  of  humor. 

This  comedy  kept  running  in  my  head  of  late 
years  with  almost  the  same  persistence  that  "  Rip 
Van  Winkle"  had  done  in  the  olden  time.  Bob,  too, 
was  an  attractive  fellow  to  contemplate.  Sheridan 
had  filled  him  with  such  quaintness  and  eccentri- 
city that  he  became  to  me  irresistible.  I  would 
often  think  of  him  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  At 
odd  times,  when  there  was  apparently  no  reason 
for  him  to  call,  he  would  pop  up  before  me  like 
an  old  acquaintance, —  for  I  had  acted  him  years 
before, —  but  always  with  a  new  expression  on  his 
face.  The  variety  of  situations  in  which  the  author 
had  placed  him ;  his  arrival  in  town  with  his 
shallow  head  full  of  nonsense  and  curl  papers, 
and  his  warm  heart  overflowing  with  love  for  an 


400  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

heiress  who  could  not  endure  him  in  the  country 
because  he  used  to  dress  so  badly ;  a  nature  soft 
and  vain,  with  a  strong  mixture  of  goose  and 
peacock;  his  aping  of  the  fashion  of  the  town, 
with  an  unmistakable  survival  of  rural  manners ; 
his  swagger  and  braggadocio  while  writing  a 
challenge ;  and  above  all  the  abject  fright  that  falls 
upon  him  when  he  realizes  what  he  has  done — 
could  the  exacting  heart  of  a  comedian  ask  for 
more  than  these  ?  Surely  here  was  the  best 
material  to  work  out  that  I  could  desire.  I  had 
acted  the  part  a  quarter  of  a  century  before,  and 
possibly  I  may  have  blundered  by  a  kind  of  in- 
tuition into  some  of  the  effects  which  now  occur 
to  me,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  at  that  time  I 
could  not  have  reproduced  them  from  night  to 
night  with  any  certainty.  I  will  not  say  that  the 
methods  by  which  I  treated  the  various  phases 
of  the  character  were  all  thought  out  previous  to 
its  revival.  Some  of  them  came  to  me  after,  and 
many  at  the  time  of  their  representation ;  for 
during  the  late  run  of  the  comedy  I  had  acted 
Acres  at  least  a  dozen  times  before  I  had  hit 
upon  a  satisfactory  effect  with  which  to  end  the 
second  act,  and  even  then  it  did  not  strike  me 
until  the  very  moment  of  its  execution. 

During  our  first  rehearsal  of  the  comedy  in 
Philadelphia,  Mrs.  John  Drew,  who  had  evidently 
been  considering  the  part  of  Mrs.  Malaprop  with 
great  care,  introduced  some  novel  business  in  her 
first  scene  with  Captain  Absolute  that  struck  me 
as  one  of  the  finest  points  I  had  ever  seen  made. 


JOS 


EPH  JEFFERSON  AS  "BOB  ACRES. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  401 

When  Mrs.  Malaprop  hands  the  letter  for  the 
Captain  to  read,  by  accident  she  gives  him  her 
own  love-letter  lately  received  by  her  from  Sir 
Liicius  O*  Trigger.  As  the  Captain  reads  the 
first  line,  which  betrays  the  secret,  Mrs.  Drew 
starts,  blushes,  and  simperingly  explains  that  "  there 
is  a  slight  mistake."  Her  manner  during  this 
situation  was  the  perfection  of  comedy.  She  asked 
me  if  I  thought  that  the  introduction  was  ad- 
missible. I  replied  that  I  not  only  thought  it 
admissible,  but  believed  that  Sheridan  himself 
would  have  introduced  it  if  the  idea  had  happened 
to  occur  to  him.  It  would  have  been  curious  if  I 
had  not  acquiesced  in  this  original  business  after 
the  liberties  I  had  myself  taken  with  the  comedy. 
I  had  not  only  condensed  the  play  from  five  acts 
into  three,  but  I  had  cut  several  of  the  characters 
entirely  out  of  it,  brought  down  the  curtain  on 
the  first  and  second  acts  with  terminations  not 
intended  by  the  author,  and  concluded  by  having 
the  courage  to  write  an  epilogue.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  these  were  sweeping  alterations, 
and  in  the  event  of  their  failure  they  were  likely 
to  endanger  whatever  reputation  I  had  acquired 
as  a  legitimate  comedian.  They  succeeded,  how- 
ever, and  I  was  only  subjected  to  some  slight 
critical  censure  from  the  press  and  a  little  quizzing 
from  a  few  old  school  members  of  the  profession, 
who  were  naturally  and  honestly  shocked  at  my 
having  taken  such  unwarrantable  liberties  with  their 
past  heroes.  Some  of  the  satirical  remarks  made 
at  my  expense  deserve  mention. 


402  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

William  Warren  on  leaving  the  theater  one 
evening  after  seeing  the.  play  was  asked  what  he 
thought  of  the  alterations.  He  replied,  "  It  re- 
minded me  of  that  line  in  Buchanan  Read's  poem, 
'And  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away."  This  was 
not  quite  original  with  him  ;  it  had  been  said  before 
by  one  of  my  own  company,  but  I  heard  that  it 
was  given  with  that  quizzical  humor  which  be- 
longed only  to  William  Warren. 

John  Gilbert  said  that  it  was  sacrilegious,  and  it 
would  serve  me  right  if  the  shade  of  Sheridan 
should  haunt  me. 

One  Christmas  Eve  during  the  run  of  the  revived 
comedy  a  merry  meeting  of  the  company  was 
arranged  after  the  play ;  a  Christmas  tree  had 
been  erected,  and  it  was  understood  that  each  one 
should  hang  a  present  for  the  other  on  it,  and  that 
no  one  should  know  the  donor.  A  gentleman  was 
selected  to  take  down  the  different  parcels  from  the 
tree  and  present  them.  The  choice  proved  an  ex- 
cellent one,  as  he  bestowed  the  various  gifts  with  wit 
and  humor.  His  opportunity  was  exceedingly  good, 
however,  as  many  of  the  presents  were  suggestive 
of  our  weak  points  and  our  various  positions.  Our 
manager,  for  instance,  received  a  bundle  of  railway 
guides,  the  advance  agent  a  paste-pot  and  brush, 
and  I  a  book  of  "The  Rivals"  with  all  the  parts 
cut  out  of  it  but  my  own. 

But,  seriously,  if  I  needed  any  excuse  for  my 
emendations  of  "The  Rivals,"  I  have  discovered 
one  lately  in  Doran's  "Annals  of  the  English  Stage," 
wherein  it  is  recorded  that  Sheridan  altered  Sir 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  403 

John  Vanbrugh's  comedy  of  "  The  Relapse  "  and 
entitled  his  play  "  A  Trip  to  Scarborough."  Ap- 
parently as  an  excuse  for  this  liberty  he  makes  one 
of  his  characters  say,  "  It  would  surely  be  a  pity  to 
exclude  the  productions  of  some  of  our  best  writers 
for  the  want  of  a  little  wholesome  pruning,  which 
might  be  effected  by  any  one  who  possessed 
modesty  enough  to  believe  that  we  should  preserve 
all  we  can  of  our  deceased  authors,  at  least  till  they 
are  outdone  by  the  living  ones."  Here  is  a  confes- 
sion that  he  not  only  sanctioned  the  liberty,  but 
that  he  took  it  himself;  so  that  should  the  shade 
of  Sheridan  ever  rebuke  me,  I  shall  defend  myself 
by  confronting  him  with  his  own  words. 

A  monumental  figure  in  Boston,  and  one  whose 
vacant  place  upon  the  stage  has  not  been  filled, 
was  William  Warren.  The  humorous  characters 
presented  by  this  gifted  actor  covered  the  entire 
range  of  legitimate  comedy,  and  from  the  great 
length  of  time  that  he  performed  at  the  Museum, 
and  the  constant  change  of  entertainment  that  was 
a  prominent  feature  of  this  establishment,  it  is  safe 
to  conclude  that  this  versatile  comedian  studied 
and  created  more  parts  than  any  other  actor  of  his 
day.  The  great  respect  of  the  public,  and  the 
warm  affection  of  his  personal  friends,  was  recipro- 
cated by  his  loyalty  to  the  city  that  by  universal 
consent  made  him  its  dramatic  ideal.  For  years 
his  benefits  were  the  events  of  the  season  ;  and  the 
last  testimonial  of  public  favor,  upon  his  fiftieth 
anniversary  upon  the  stage,  given  just  previous 
to  his  final  retirement,  was  marked  by  a  depth  of 


404  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

feeling  that  neither  the  recipient  nor  the  donors 
could  ever   forget. 

His  career  as  a  stock  actor  was  a  most  remark- 
able one.  I  say  a  stock  actor  in  no  disparagement 
of  his  ability  to  be  the  leading  feature  of  a  theatri- 
cal entertainment.  On  the  contrary,  there  were 
during  his  day  few,  if  any,  of  those  who  traveled 
as  stars  who  were  superior  to  him  as  a  comedian. 
He  was  offered  many  inducements  to  star,  but 
it  was  only  for  one  season  that  he  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  give  up  his  regular  engage- 
ment. He  soon  wearied  of  the  constant  change  of 
scene,  and,  longing  for  the  quiet  and  domestic  com- 
fort that  could  not  be  obtained  while  constantly 
moving  about,  he  returned  to  his  old  position  and 
to  the  audience  whom  he  had  missed  and  who  had 
missed  him.  His  welcome  on  his  re-appearance, 
and  his  own  delight  at  receiving  it,  proved  that 
the  affection  between  him  and  his  audience  was 
mutual.  He  had  entered  the  Boston  Museum 
during  its  early  struggles,  and  became  from  the 
first  the  foundation  upon  which  its  prosperity  was 
built,  as  he  remained  to  the  last  the  pillar  which 
supported  its  dome.  His  talent  as  an  actor,  his 
sacred  duty  to  the  public,  and  his  loyalty  to  his 
temple,  were  the  principal  causes  of  the  success  that 
for  so  many  years  attended  the  dramatic  produc- 
tions of  the  Boston  Museum.  While  he  was 
undoubtedly  the  principal  feature  of  the  company, 
he  never  presumed  upon  the  strength  of  his  posi- 
tion, nor  at  any  time  during  his  lifelong  service  did 
he  offer  the  slightest  obstruction  to  any  change  in 


WILLIAM    WARREN    AS     "  HERR     WEIGEL." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  405 

the  managerial  policy  of  his  dramatic  home.  If  it 
was  found  necessary  to  bring  forward  one  of  those 
sensational  or  catchpenny  actors  who  sometimes 
hold  for  a  brief  period  the  esteem  of  the  public  to 
the  exclusion  of  better  stuff,  he  never  complained ; 
but,  yielding  to  the  decision  of  his  manager  and  the 
caprice  of  the  public,  he  would  step  gracefully  aside 
and  make  place  for  the  ruling  mushroom,  and  so 
allow  some  new-fledged  and  popular  buffoon  to  be 
sandwiched  between  his  legitimate  efforts.  He 
seemed  to  have  that  gallant  confidence  in  his  own 
worth  that  made  him  soar  above  the  pangs  of  petty 
jealousy. 

There  are  few  living  who  remember  William 
Warren  so  far  back  in  the  past  as  I  do.  I  was 
about  ten  years  old  when  I  first  saw  him.  He  was 
attached  to  my  father's  company,  sharing  in  all  our 
fortunes  and  misfortunes  in  the  far  West.  He  was 
then  a  tall,  handsome  young  man  about  twenty-five 
years  of  age.  He  had  fine,  expressive  eyes,  a 
graceful  figure,  and  a  head  of  black,  curly  hair  that 
must  have  been  the  envy  of  our  juvenile  tragedian, 
who  was  himself  quite  bald.  William  was  at  that 
time  what  is  technically  called  a  heavy  actor,  and 
played  such  parts  as  Rashleigh  Osbaldistone  in 
Scott's  "Rob  Roy,"  and  Beauseant  in  Bulwer's 
"  Lady  of  Lyons."  My  father's  comedian  disap- 
pointing him,  Warren  was  cast  in  that  line  of  char- 
acters known  as  low  comedy.  He  had  been  highly 
educated  in  his  youth,  and  having  a  mind  that 
applied  itself  diligently  to  whatever  it  undertook, 
he  soon  became  famous  as  an  actor.  Always 


406  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

modest,  and  not  endowed  with  an  abundance  of 
self-reliance,  it  was  to  his  talent  rather  than  to  any 
particular  energy  that  he  owed  his  advancement  in 
the  dramatic  art.  Conscientious  to  an  inordinate 
degree,  he  neglected  nothing  in  the  preparation  of 
costumes  or  the  study  of  his  characters  to  render 
his  acting  worthy  of  his  audiences.  He  was  uni- 
versally acknowledged  to  be  one  of  the  most  finished 
artists  of  his  time.  It  was  the  pride  he  took  in  his 
profession  and  the  wisdom  which  characterized  the 
important  actions  of  his  life  that  warned  him  not 
to  return  to  the  stage  after  he  had  bid  it  farewell. 
Once  having  made  this  resolution  nothing  could 
tempt  him  to  venture  again  before  an  audience. 
He  was  a  veteran,  certainly,  when  he  retired,  but 
he  had  not  staid  too  long,  and  if  there  was  any 
vague  suspicion  that  his  powers  had  weakened,  it 
was  in  his  own  mind,  and  his  conscientious  nature 
would  not  permit  him  to  linger  before  the  public 
when  he  felt  that  he  could  no  longer  do  his  duty ; 
so  that  up  to  his  final  exit  from  the  stage  his  audi- 
ence retained  the  best  impression  of  his  acting. 

I  recall  him  in  the  very  prime  of  his  life  when  I 
went  to  Boston  first  to  join  the  stock  company  at 
the  Howard  Athenaeum.  He  was  the  reigning 
favorite  of  the  town,  and  all  who  remember  him 
well  know  that  he  remained  so  to  the  end. 

Again  I  went — this  time  to  play  a  star  engage- 
ment, when  I  had  the  not  very  cheering  assurance 
of  the  manager  that  I  was  the  only  one  by  whom 
he  had  lost  money  during  that  season.  This  would 
have  been  a  crushing  blow  indeed,  but  I  had  the 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  407 

consolation  of  knowing  that,  when  he  could  get 
away  from  the  Museum,  Warren  came  to  see  me 
act  if  no  one  else  did. 

At  this  time  we  lived  at  the  same  house  in  Bui- 
finch  Place.  There  was  a  grand  old  kitchen  here 
where,  in  company  with  many  passing  stars,  we 
supped  together  after  the  play.  Warren  always 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  was  usually  con- 
cealed behind  a  huge  pile  of  lobsters,  and  as  he 
served  them  liberally  the  scarlet  edifice  would 
slowly  sink  as  if  it  were  going  through  the  stage 
in  pantomime,  revealing  as  it  descended  the  fine 
face  of  the  genius  of  the  feast.  For  many  seasons 
after  this,  when  I  came  to  act  in  Boston,  our 
suppers  in  the  old  kitchen  were  among  the  agree- 
able features  of  the  engagement. 

James  Wallack,  Charles  Mathews,  Fechter, 
Walter  Montgomery,  Peter  Richings  (dear  me,  I 
am  the  only  one  left!),  and  many  others.  Such 
jokes,  old  and  new;  such  reminiscences,  foreign 
and  domestic  ;  tales  of  the  Drury  Lane,  legends 
of  the  Theatre  Frangais,  and  romances  of  the 
old  Bowery ;  then  the  discussion  as  to  whether 
the  actors  of  the  past  were  better  than  those  of 
the  present — all  of  the  old  actors  insisting  on  it 
that  they  were,  and  all  the  young  ones  insisting  on 
it  that  they  were  not. 

Again  I  recall  Warren  as  one  of  the  bright 
features  of  a  memorable  feast  —  Mrs.  James  T. 
Fields  at  one  end  of  the  table  and  her  husband 
at  the  other.  Beside  William  Warren  sat  Dr. 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  while  Mr.  Longfellow 


408  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

sat  facing  me  —  I  the  youngest  man  of  those  as- 
sembled, and  greatly  pleased  to  be  one  of  such  a 
group.  Here  was  table-talk  indeed  —  a  feast  of 
wit  as  well  as  viands.  As  I  think  now  of  that 
interesting  day  I  seem  to  listen  to  the  brilliancy  of 
Fields,  the  wisdom  of  Longfellow,  and  the  wit  of 
Holmes.  Then  Warren  modestly  joins  in  the  con- 
versation, planning  his  words  to  the  theme  under 
discussion  —  so  adroitly  too,  that  no  joke  is  sus- 
pected until  the  climax.  This  is  indeed  the  very 
art  and  perfection  of  an  anecdote. 

Time  rolled  on  and  we  met  quite  often,  always 
in  the  summer.  To  sit  and  talk  with  Warren 
under  the  trees  was  ever  a  treat  to  me.  He  had 
known  me  when  I  was  but  a  boy,  and  now  he 
knew  me  as  a  grandfather.  No  lack  of  retro- 
spect and  reminiscence  with  such  acquaintances ! 

Then  came  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  his  debut. 
I  was  not  there  to  see  it,  but  I  know  of  it  as 
though  the  scene  had  passed  before  me.  Thou- 
sands flocked  to  witness  it.  Gray-haired  men  who 
had  been  taken  to  see  him  when  they  were  boys, 
hurried  to  bid  for  places  that  they  might  do  him 
honor.  There  was  a  loving-cup  from  those  who 
cherished  him ;  flowers  from  a  whole  city ;  a 
token  of  affection  from  his  old  comrades.  I  saw 
him  shortly  after  this,  and  there  was  a  shade  of 
sadness  in  his  face.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  all 
was  over.  A  laurel  wreath  will  cheer  its  wearer 
when  it  is  bestowed  on  one  who  is  in  the  zenith 
of  his  victory,  but  it  weighs  heavily  upon  a  retired 
head. 


WILLIAM     WARREN     AS     "JEFFERSON     SCATTERING     BATKINS. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  409 

William  Warren  bore  up  bravely  under  the 
burden  of  seclusion  ;  but  time,  and  the  loss  of  that 
more  than  magnetism  which  is  imbibed  by  an  actor 
from  the  warm  appreciation  of  his  audience,  and 
which  had  stimulated  him  for  so  many  years, 
gradually  told  upon  his  health,  and  then  his  bright 
mind  faded  and  he  passed  away.  Boston's  best 
sons  and  daughters  were  present  to  witness  the 
ceremonies  that  attended  upon  his  final  rest. 
Those  who  had  lived  and  wept  with  him  in  his  art 
showed,  by  their  presence  and  unsuppressed  emo- 
tion, how  they  were  saddened  by  so  great  a  loss. 

Relatives  and  friends,  who  stood  in  groups  about 
the  tomb,  were  overcome  with  sorrow.  John  Gil- 
bert stood  gazing  into  the  grave  with  streaming 
eyes  and  a  dazed  look.  He  felt  that  the  time  was 
fast  approaching  when  he  would  join  his  comrade. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SOME   OLD   FRIENDS 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barney  Williams  —  John  Drew  — 

Charlotte  Cushman  —  Mrs.  Drake  —  F.  S.  Chan- 

frau  — John  T.  Raymond  —  John  McCullough 

—  The  Lester  Wallack  Benefit  —  Actors  of  To- 

Day  and   Yesterday 

MR.  AND   MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS  attracted 
much   attention,  shortly   after  their  mar- 
riage, as   American  stars.     The  associa- 
tion of  the  Irish  boy  and  the  Yankee   girl  was  a 
novelty,    and    as    a    dramatic    feature    strong    in 
contrast. 

Williams  had  been  quite  popular  even  before 
his  marriage,  and  his  union  with  Mrs.  Charles 
Mestayer  (also  very  popular),  and  their  joint 
appearance  in  Irish  drama  and  musical  farce  was 
at  once  a  success  and  placed  them  among  the 
theatrical  attractions  of  the  day.  The  laugh  of 
Mrs.  Williams  was  infectious,  and  her  droll  sing- 
ing of  "  Independence  Day  "  made  it  the  favorite 
local  song  of  the  time.  Williams  was  an  effective 

410 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  411 

actor,  and  his  graceful  figure  and  attractive  face 
made  him  always  welcome  to  his  audiences. 

Barney  and  I  were  once  walking  together  in 
a  heavy  shower  of  rain,  and  were  near  his  own 
house,  where  dinner  was  awaiting  us.  As  we 
reached  the  gate  the  Irish  girl  was  discovered 
watering  the  flower-beds  in  the  garden.  She, 
like  ourselves,  was  sheltered  from  the  storm  by 
an  ample  umbrella,  but  a  high  wind  was  blowing 
at  a  terrible  rate,  and  had  turned  her  protector 
inside  out.  With  the  now  useless  shelter  in  one 
hand  and  the  watering-pot  in  the  other  she  was 
whirled  about  like  a  weather-cock  in  a  stiff  breeze, 
and  in  this  helpless  condition  was  pouring  an  aux- 
iliary shower  on  the  already  drenched  and  drip- 
ping plants.  Barney  hailed  her  reprovingly,  and 
demanded  to  know  why  she  was  doing  such  a 
stupid  thing.  "  Sure,  sir,  ye  told  me  to  be  after 
watering  the  flowers  every  day."  "  Yes,  but  not 
on  a  rainy  day,"  said  the  master.  "  Sure,  sir," 
said  Biddy,  "  I  thought  a  rainy  day  was  every 
day  as  well  as  any  other  day."  "  Why,  you  are 
drenched  with  the  rain,"  said  Barney;  "go  into 
the  house."  "I  will,  sir,  indeed,"  said  she;  "for 
if  the  posies  have  had  enough  of  it,  I  am  sure  I 
have." 

It  is  said  that  John  Brougham,  who  wrote  the 
domestic  drama  of  "The  Irish  Emigrant,"  and 
had  acted  the  hero  with  some  success,  declared 
upon  seeing  John  Drew  play  the  part  that  he 
would  never  attempt  it  again.  I  have  myself  a 
most  vivid  remembrance  of  Drew  in  this  character. 


412  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

(This  gentleman  was  the  father  of  the  present 
John  Drew  and  the  husband  of  the  distinguished 
actress  who  now  bears  his  name.)  He  acted  a 
star  engagement  under  my  management  in  Rich- 
mond, Virginia,  in  1856,  appearing  in  a  round  of 
Irish  characters  with  marked  success.  I  saw  him 
in  Handy  Andy,  O'Flanaghan,  and  the  Emi- 
grant, and  his  entrance  in  the  latter  character 
was  one  of  those  simple,  bold,  and  unconven- 
tional effects  that  invariably  command  recognition 
from  an  audience,  be  they  high  or  low,  rich  or 
poor,  intelligent  or  ignorant.  A  figure  passes  an 
open  window  and  pauses  for  an  instant  to  look 
into  the  room ;  then  a  timid  knock.  "  Come 
in ! "  The  door  slowly  opens,  and  upon  the 
threshold  stands  a  half-starved  man,  hunger  in 
his  gaunt  form  and  hollow  cheeks,  but  kind- 
ness and  honesty  in  his  gentle  eyes.  What  a 
pathetic  sight  is  this !  As  the  character  is  devel- 
oped through  the  incidents  surrounding  it,  you 
see  always  the  same  man,  changed  only  as  he 
would  be  by  the  circumstances  through  which 
he  passes. 

There  is  a  sincerity  in  this  kind  of  artistic  treat- 
ment that  wins  for  it  a  lasting  remembrance  in 
the  minds  of  those  who  have  witnessed  it.  To 
do  bright  and  sparkling  things  that  for  a  moment 
trick  an  audience  of  its  applause,  though  they 
be  entirely  out  of  keeping  with  a  character,  is  a 
grave  error.  With  whatever  variety  a  character 
may  be  treated,  the  audience  should  feel  that 
it  is  the  same  man  whose  different  moods  are 


JOHN    DREW     AS     "HANDY    ANDY. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  413 

developed  by  the  change  of  his  position  in  the 
story.  I  think  it  has  been  generally  conceded 
that  since  Tyrone  Power  there  has  been  no 
Irish  comedian  equal  to  John  Drew.  Power,  as 
a  light  and  brilliant  actor,  with  piercing  eyes, 
elegant  carriage,  and  polished  "  school,"  daz- 
zling his  audiences  like  a  comet,  was  undoubt- 
edly unparalleled  in  his  line,  but  I  doubt  if 
he  could  touch  the  heart  as  deeply  as  did  John 
Drew. 

We  were  afterwards  together  in  Philadelphia; 
he  played  Sir  Lucius  O'  Trigger  with  me  in  "The 
Rivals,"  Mrs.  Drew  appearing  as  Lydia  Languish. 
There  was  one  part  that  he  acted  during  this  brief 
engagement  which  made  a  strong  impression  upon 
me  and  revealed  his  versatility  perhaps  more  than 
any  other  character  I  had  seen  him  in.  It  was  that 
of  a  young  English  squire,  gay  and  desperate, 
warm-hearted  and  profligate,  whose  condition 
changed  from  wealth  and  station  to  poverty  and 
almost  degradation,  from  the  bowling  green  of  the 
quiet  village  to  the  gambling  hell  of  a  great  city 
— these  vicissitudes  of  fortune  being  brought  upon 
him  by  his  own  careless  nature,  which  passed  from 
gay  to  grave,  deeply  touched  by  the  misfortunes 
of  others  and  reckless  of  his  own.  Drew's  treat- 
ment of  this  character,  while  it  was  not  widely 
known,  won  for  him  great  admiration  from  his 
artistic  comrades. 

Charlotte  Cushman  was  a  prominent  figure  in 
the  dramatic  history  of  her  day — tall  and  com- 
manding in  person,  with  an  expressive  face,  whose 


414  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

features  might  have  been  called  plain  but  for  the 
strength  and  character  in  them.  She  was  self- 
educated,  and  had  consequently  stored  her  mind 
with  just  that  sort  of  material  that  would  serve  to 
develop  it.  The  most  cultivated  society  of  Eng- 
land and  America  delighted  to  entertain  her,  and 
her  hospitality  and  kindness  to  Americans  who 
visited  this  lady  during  her  sojourn  in  Italy  won 
for  her  the  esteem  and  gratitude  of  many  rising 
young  artists,  whom  she  took  great  pleasure  in 
bringing  into  notice.  Her  dramatic  career  was  a 
long  and  brilliant  one  ;  and  in  the  legitimate  drama 
she  was  more  prominent  than  any  other  actress  of 
her  time. 

Mrs.  Warner  was  the  nearest  approach  to  Miss 
Cushman.  Her  face  was  classic,  and  there  was  a 
grace  and  majesty  in  her  presence  that  was  very 
charming ;  but  in  force  and  fire  Miss  Cushman  far 
outshone  her  English  rival.  She  had  great  tact  in 
society,  being  perfectly  at  ease  and  making  every 
one  else  so.  Her  faculty  for  either  entertaining  or 
being  entertained  was  remarkable.  She  could  do 
all  the  listening  or  all  the  talking,  whichever  was 
the  most  agreeable  to  her  guest.  As  Lady  Macbeth 
and  as  Queen  Catherine  she  was  regal  from  head 
to  foot ;  but  her  most  popular  character  with  the 
public  was  Meg  Merrilies,  in  "  Guy  Mannering." 
As  Scott's  heroine,  critics  objected  to  her  extrava- 
gant acting  and  the  liberty  she  took  in  standing 
aloof  from  the  novel,  and  in  her  re-creation  of  the 
character.  As  I  have  been  guilty  of  the  same 
thing,  it  will  not  do  for  me  to  complain.  But  be 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  415 

this  as  it  may,  her  acting  was  amazingly  effective, 
and  that  quality  covers  a  multitude  of  dramatic 
sins.  She  was  witty  and  agreeable,  with  an  im- 
mense flow  of  animal  spirits,  and  I  never  met  her 
without  having  a  good  laugh,  either  at  our  own 
expense  or  that  of  somebody  else.  She  had  a 
warm  heart,  and  her  charities  were  very  numerous. 

Before  Charlotte  Cushman  reached  the  height 
of  her  popularity  the  leading  tragic  actress  of 
America  was  Mrs.  A.  Drake.  She  was  an  accom- 
plished lady,  and  during  her  whole  life  held  an 
enviable  position  both  on  and  off  the  stage.  When 
a  boy  of  sixteen  I  acted  with  her  the  page  Cyprian 
Gossamer  in  "  Adrian  and  Orrilla."  She  taught 
me  the  business  of  the  part  with  great  care,  com- 
ing to  the  theater  an  hour  before  the  rehearsal  so 
as  to  go  over  the  scenes  with  me  before  the  actors 
assembled.  She  had  a  queenly  bearing,  and  was, 
during  her  dramatic  reign,  undoubtedly  the  tragic 
muse  of  America. 

Her  son,  some  years  ago,  knowing  that  I  had 
a  great  regard  for  his  mother,  gave  me  three  let- 
ters which  relate  to  theatrical  matters  in  general, 
and  to  Mrs.  Drake  in  particular.  I  shall  there- 
fore take  the  liberty  of  inserting  them  here.  They 
have  never  been  published  before,  and  as  two  of 
them  are  from  John  Howard  Payne,  the  author 
of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  and  the  other  is  from 
Washington  Irving,  they  cannot  fail  to  be  inter- 
esting. One  of  Mr.  Payne's  letters  is  to  Daniel 
O'Connell,  the  great  Irish  statesman,  introducing 
Mrs.  Drake  to  his  notice. 


416  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

LOUISVILLE,  KENTUCKY,  Sept.  4,  1832. 
JOHN  MILLER,  ESQ., 

Agent  for  the  American  Legation,  London. 

MY  DEAR  SIR  :  As  you  are  well  versed  in  theatrical  affairs,  I 
would  ask  your  advice  and  services  for  Mrs.  Drake,  an  American 
lady,  who  is  about  to  try  her  fortunes  on  the  London  boards. 
You  may  already  have  heard  of  her  success  in  the  United  States. 
I  have  merely  had  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  her  powers  one 
evening,  in  the  Widow  Cheerly  ("The  Soldier's  Daughter"),  and 
the  part  of  Mary  in  the  "  Maid  of  the  Inn";  but  from  those  speci- 
mens am  led  to  form  a  very  high  opinion  of  her  talents  both  in 
the  serious  and  comic  lines  of  the  drama.  I  cannot  but  think 
that,  if  she  has  a  fair  chance,  she  will  make  a  very  favorable  im- 
pression on  the  London  public. 

A  personal  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Drake  has  still  more  inter- 
ested me  in  herself  and  her  fortune;  and  I  shall  feel  it  as  a  kind- 
ness to  myself  if  you  would  do  anything  in  your  power  to 
facilitate  her  views  in  England. 

With  kindest  remembrances  to  Mrs.  Miller, 

Yours  very  truly, 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

NEW  YORK,  May  20,  1833. 
DAN'L  O'CONNELL,  Esq.,  M.  P.,  London. 
(Hand  by  Mrs.  Drake.) 

MY  DEAR  SIR:  A  lady  of  the  highest  standing  both  as  a 
gentlewoman  and  an  actress — Mrs.  Drake  of  the  Western  region 
of  our  Western  World — visits  Europe  and  intends  to  make  a 
professional  experiment  in  London.  I  have  thought  I  could 
greatly  serve  her  and  gratify  you  by  making  you  known  to  each 
other ;  and  as  Mrs.  Drake  will  probably  visit  Ireland,  I  shall  con- 
sider any  attention  she  may  receive  there  through  you  as  a  com- 
pliment from  you  to  our  republic,  as  will  my  countrymen.  Mrs. 
Drake  is  one  of  the  few  among  us  who  are  allowed  by  Mrs. 
Trollope  to  possess  first-rate  talent ;  and  the  Duke  of  Saxe- Wei- 
mar, in  his  Travels,  speaks  of  her  with  more  enthusiasm  than  even 
Mrs.  Trollope.  I  prefer,  for  reasons  which  I  need  not  name, 
giving  you  upon  this  subject  the  opinions  of  foreigners,  espe- 
cially of  such  as  are  supposed  to  be  rather  prejudiced  against  us. 

I  write  in  great  haste,  being  apprised  of  the  departure  of  Mrs. 


MRS.    A.    DRAKE. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  417 

Drake  for  England  only  as  I  am  myself  departing  for  the  South- 
ern States  of  America.  I  can  only  add  how  infinitely  I  shall  feel 
obliged  by  any  attention  it  may  be  in  your  power  to  offer  Mrs. 
Drake.  She  travels  in  company  with  a  particular  friend  of  hers, 
Mrs.  White,  who  (with  her  husband,  a  member  of  the  United 
States  Congress  for  Florida,  Colonel  White)  is  desirous  of  seeing 
Europe.  Should  you  meet  them  you  may  wonder  a  little  that  a 
part  of  the  world  so  recently  a  wilderness  should  produce  such 
poor  specimens  of  savageness  and  unrefinement. 

With  best  and  most  grateful  remembrances  to  Mrs.  O'Connell 
and  all  your  family  who  may  still  bear  me  in  recollection,  believe 
me,  my  dear  sir,  with  great  respect, 

Your  obliged  and  faithful  friend  and  servant, 

Dan'l  O'Connell,  Esq.,  M.  P.  J.  HOWARD  PAYNE. 

NEW  YORK,  67  Varick  St., 
Hudson  Square,  Oct.  20,  i833> 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  DRAKE  :  You  will  doubtless  think  me  most 
ungallant  in  having  so  long  omitted  to  answer  your  kind  letter  of 
July  i.  But  be  assured  the  neglect  has  not  been  of  the  mind,  for 
I  have  often  thought  and  spoken  of  you  and  always  intended  to 
write  to  you  —  to-morrow;  the  to-morrow  is  now  here;  but 
whether  it  will  guide  my  remembrance  to  you  is  a  question  which 
it  would  delight  me  to  find  answered  speedily  in  the  affirmative 
by  your  own  fair  hand. 

My  attention  since  I  heard  from  you  has  been  entirely  taken 
up  by  the  project  of  a  new  periodical  I  am  preparing  —  Mr. 
Hyde,  of  Schenectady,  obliges  me  by  conveying  you  a  pros- 
pectus. I  must  have  five  thousand  subscribers  before  I  can  start, 
and  as  yet  the  names  come  in  slowly.  People  seem  astonished  by 
the  plan  and  still  more  by  giving  two  guineas  for  literature !  I 
have  only  about  230  of  the  five  thousand  as  yet,  but  I  mean  to 
persevere.  I  have  great  hopes  from  the  Western  States,  and 
should  be  most  happy  to  confer  with  you  upon  some  plan  for 
taking  the  warm  hearts  you  tell  me  of  there  by  storm.  The 
scheme  is  one  I  am  much  devoted  to,  and  surely  a  nation  like 
this  ought  to  yield  from  her  whole  population  five  thousand  sup- 
porters for  such  a  project.  I  mean  to  travel  through  the  United 
States  myself,  and  in  each  place  send  out  a  person  to  solicit 


418  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

names.  It  is  humiliating  enough  to  have  to  solicit  even  by  a 
second  person — but  if  no  other  names  offer  I  will  do  it  by  myself 
rather  than  fail.  I  shall  take  Albany,  of  course,  on  the  way;  but 
when,  is  yet  uncertain.  I  am  very  desirous,  however,  of  ascer- 
taining as  early  as  may  be  what  chance  that  good  city  offers  me; 
and  Mr.  Hyde,  who  is  a  worthy  and  enthusiastic  young  man,  a 
student  of  Union  College  and  the  editor  of  a  magazine  published 
there,  has  most  handsomely  undertaken  to  try  what  he  can  do 
towards  the  increase  of  my  list.  I  have  desired  him  to  see  you, 
and  to  get  your  advice.  The  ladies  are  the  best  friends  after  all, 
and  not  only  know  how  these  things  ought  to  be  managed,  but 
can  point  out  the  readiest  way  of  giving  their  knowledge  effect. 

May  I  hope  you  will  favor  me  with  a  line  very  soon,  mention- 
ing what  you  are  about  and  whether  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you 
in  return  for  the  commission  with  which  I  am  troubling  you. 
Yours  in  haste, 

Most  faithfully, 

Mrs.  Drake.  J.  HOWARD  PAYNE. 

These  simple  letters  from  two  gifted  and  delight- 
ful men  attest  not  only  Mrs.  Drake's  dramatic  quali- 
ties but  her  private  worth.  And  it  is  a  pleasure  and 
a  privilege  to  publish  them,  and  so  revive  the  mem- 
ory of  an  honorable  and  talented  lady.  Had  they 
been  commonplace  letters  of  introduction  from  un- 
known people  I  should  not  have  intruded  them  on 
the  reader ;  but  as  it  is  I  feel  sure  that  no  apology 
is  needed  for  their  insertion. 

A  little  incident  connected  with  the  meeting  of 
Mrs.  Drake  in  Louisville  has  been  brought  to  my 
recollection  while  I  have  been  writing  of  her. 
There  is  nothing  particularly  interesting  about  it 
except  that  it  has  a  humorous  side,  and  I  cannot 
resist  the  temptation  of  noticing  it  here. 

We  had,  at  that  time,  a  lady  attached  to  our 
company  who  was  a  great  character.  Her  thirst 


JOHN     HOWARD    PAYNE. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  419 

for  autographs  was  unquenchable,  and  I  have  never 
seen  a  more  perfect  specimen  of  the  female  lion- 
hunter.  She  knew  most  of  the  celebrities  in  the 
country,  and  always  kept  on  hand  a  large  assort- 
ment of  introductory  letters  ready  for  presentation 
at  the  shortest  notice.  This  is  an  innocent  kind 
of  pastime,  and  if  it  does  no  good  it  certainly 
does  no  harm.  This  lady  had  a  weakness  for  not 
remembering  names.  This  was  singular,  too,  as 
half  her  time  was  employed  in  collecting  them ; 
but  they  seemed  to  revenge  themselves  for  their 
imprisonment  in  her  album  by  escaping  from  her 
memory  ;  and  it  was  comical  to  observe  the  woe- 
begone expression  of  her  face  when  she  related 
some  of  her  unfortunate  mistakes. 

"It  is  so  dreadful,  my  dear,"  she  would  say,  "to 
commit  these  blunders,  and  there  is  no  excuse  for 
them.  Just  imagine  my  being  introduced  to  a  gen- 
tleman by  the  name  of  Smith  and  calling  him  Mr. 
Montgomery  five  minutes  afterwards." 

Of  course  she  was  anxious  to  meet  an  interesting 
lady  like  Mrs.  Drake,  and,  armed  with  an  intro- 
duction which  I  gave  her,  called  on  the  retired 
actress,  hoping  that  she  would  be  able  to  collect 
some  theatrical  matter  for  a  book  that  she  was 
writing,  and  desiring  to  get  the  much-prized,  but 
rather  conventional,  actor's  autograph  with  a 
Shaksperean  quotation. 

In  due  time  Mrs.  Drake  returned  the  call  and 
was  ushered  into  the  vast  parlor  of  the  Gait  House, 
where  a  number  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  were 
assembled  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  lion-hunter. 


420  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Mrs.  Drake  was  distinguished  for  a  majestic  bear- 
ing at  all  times,  and  any  ceremonious  occasion 
would  naturally  intensify  her  dignity.  The  tragedy 
queen  was  therefore  with  more  than  usual  loftiness 
led  into  the  center  of  the  apartment  and  introduced 
by  her  hostess  as  Mrs.  Duck.  A  slight  titter  of 
quiet  mirth  rippled  over  the  assembled  company 
as  Mrs.  Drake  glared  with  a  reproving  Lady 
Macbeth  eye  at  the  nervous  little  hostess,  who 
was  so  overcome  with  mortification  that  she  burst 
forth  with,  "  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  mean  Mrs. 
Goose."  This  of  course  settled  it. 

F.  S.  Chanfrau,  while  he  acted  a  vast  number  of 
characters  with  success,  will  be  best  remembered 
by  those  who  go  back  some  thirty  years  ago,  as 
"  Mose,"  the  fire  boy.  He  was  the  talk  of  the 
town  for  two  seasons  or  more  —  when  I  first  saw 
him  he  was  extremely  handsome.  He  was  modest, 
too,  and  manly.  These  qualities  are  so  rarely  allied 
to  beauty  that  Chanfrau  comes  back  to  my  remem- 
brance as  quite  a  novelty.  He  had  success  enough 
to  have  turned  his  head,  but  he  bore  it  bravely,  so 
that  he  must  have  been  as  well  poised  in  his  mind 
as  he  was  in  his  person.  His  imitations  of  For- 
rest, the  elder  Booth,  Macready,  and  Burton  won 
him  hosts  of  admirers. 

John  T.  Raymond,  like  Florence,  J.  S.  Clarke, 
Owens,  and  myself,  was  known  as  a  legitimate 
comedian.  This  is  a  somewhat  technical  term, 
usually  applied  to  those  actors  who  confine  them- 
selves as  strictly  as  possible  to  the  acting  of  char- 
acters in  old  English  and  Shaksperean  comedies. 


F.    S.    CHANFRAU. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  421 

Raymond  was  also,  like  those  actors  previously 
mentioned,  a  creator  of  American  characters.  He 
appeared  as  Ichabod  Crane  in  a  dramatization 
of  Washington  Irving's  "Wolfert's  Roost,"  and 
also  as  Col.  Sellers  in  Mark  Twain's  "  Gilded 
Age."  The  latter  character  he  acted  with  great 
success  for  many  seasons  in  this  country,  though 
the  play  failed  to  create  any  enthusiasm  in  Eng- 
land. 

I  preferred  him  in  his  acting  of  Ichabod  Crane. 
It  was  a  quaint  and  strong  performance ;  his  love 
scene  with  Katrina  was  acted  in  the  best  spirit  of 
comedy;  the  serio-comic  expression  that  he  threw 
into  this  woe-begone,  love-sick  swain  was  irresist- 
ibly droll.  Raymond  was  energetic  and  industri- 
ous, acting  up  to  the  very  night  before  his  death. 

I  saw  McCullough  act  but  once,  and  then  he  was 
ill,  so  that  I  could  scarcely  give  a  fair  judgment  of 
his  talent.  He  was  undoubtedly  a  great  favorite 
with  the  public,  and  much  admired  by  his  friends 
both  as  a  man  and  an  actor.  The  loss  of  his  mind 
in  the  very  prime  of  his  life  was  a  mystery  that 
medical  skill  was  unable  to  account  for.  From  a 
gentle,  yielding  nature  he  changed  completely,  and 
at  times  became  quite  violent.  His  career  as  a 
tragedian  was  most  prosperous,  and  he  died  leav- 
ing hosts  of  friends  and  admirers. 

The  Lester  Wallack  Testimonial,  which  was 
given  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  on  the 
evening  of  Monday,  May  21,  1888,  brought 
together  a  number  of  actors  so  celebrated  that  I 
desire  to  chronicle  the  cast  in  these  pages.  The 


422  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

play   on   this   occasion    was    "  Hamlet,"    and   the 
distribution  of  characters  was  as  follows  : 

Hamlet EDWIN  BOOTH. 

Ghost LAWRENCE  BARRETT. 

King  Claudius FRANK  MAYO. 

Polonius JOHN  GILBERT. 

Laertes EBEN  PLYMPTON. 

Horatio JOHN  A.   LANE. 

Rosencrantz CHARLES  HANFORD. 

Guildenstern LAWRENCE  HANLEY. 

Osric CHARLES  KOEHLER. 

Marcellus EDWIN  H.  VANDERFELT. 

Bernardo HERBERT  KELCEY. 

Francisco FRANK  MORDAUNT. 

ist  Actor    .     .     .     . JOSEPH  WHEELOCK. 

2d  "        MILNES  LEVICK. 

ist  Gravedigger JOSEPH  JEFFERSON. 

2d          " W.  J.  FLORENCE. 

Priest HARRY  EDWARDS. 

Ophelia HELENA  MODJESKA. 

Queen GERTRUDE  KELLOGG. 

Player  Queen    .     .     .  !v    ,     .     .     .  ROSE  COGHLAN. 

On  the  bill  of  the  play  were  printed  the  names 
of  about  one  hundred  and  forty  actors  and  actresses 
who  volunteered  as  auxiliaries. 

The  reception  to  those  who  volunteered  to  act 
was  most  cordial ;  and  when  Mr.  Wallack  re- 
sponded to  a  universal  call  he  did  so  in  well- 
chosen  words ;  and  as  he  retired  from  the  stage 
his  audience,  who  seemed  to  be  composed  of  old 
friends,  applauded  as  though  they  were  bidding 
him  adieu  for  the  last  time ;  and  so,  indeed,  it 
turned  out  to  be. 

In  dealing  freely,  and  I  hope  fairly,  with  the 
players  of  the  past,  I  have,  for  obvious  reasons, 


LESTER     WALLACK. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  423 

refrained  from  passing  judgment  on  the  actors  of 
the  present.  I  belong  to  the  latter  group,  and  have 
therefore  no  right  to  criticize  it.  There  are  many 
both  in  England  and  America  that  I  would  be 
pleased  to  praise  and  praise  highly,  but  in  doing 
this  I  should  tacitly  censure  others,  and  this  is  not 
my  mission.  The  first  group  have  passed  by,  but 
we  are  before  the  public,  which  alone  has  the  right 
to  pass  judgment.  Besides,  actors  are  not  by  any 
means  the  best  judges  of  acting ;  we  have  our 
prejudices,  which  naturally  bias  fair  criticism ;  and, 
in  referring  to  the  past  history  of  the  stage,  I  find 
that  all  actors  of  genius  and  originality  have  given 
great  offense  to  the  conventional  school  that  their 
brilliancy  disturbed.  Quin  said  of  Garrick,  "  If 
he  is  right,  then  we  are  all  wrong";  the  Kembles 
were  shocked  at  the  fire  of  Edmund  Kean  ;  and  so 
it  has  gone  on,  and  ever  will. 

Original  painters  seem  to  suffer  still  more  than 
actors,  and  I  honestly  believe  it  is  because  artists 
are  at  the  heads  of  the  academies,  where  they  sit 
in  judgment  and  at  times  denounce  the  work  of  an 
original  painter,  refusing  to  hang  his  picture  be- 
cause he  has  had  the  courage  to  be  unconventional. 
Corot  and  Millet  were  for  years  refused  admittance 
to  the  Salon,  and  are  striking  proofs  of  the  unfair- 
ness or  prejudice  of  their  brother  artists ;  and  it  is 
quite  likely  if  actors  and  authors  sat  in  judgment 
on  their  kind  that  many  original  actors  and  authors 
would  be  tabooed  ;  but  fortunately  the  great  public 
gets  at  them  first  and  praises  or  condemns  un- 
biased by  professional  jealousies.  The  painter  has 


424  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

no  such  advantage ;  before  his  work  can  reach  the 
public  it  must  be  filtered  through  the  judgment  of 
his  brother  artists  of  the  Academy ;  if  they  are 
conventional  (as  they  generally  are),  he  is  doomed 
to  obscurity.  Corot  was  fifty  years  old  before  his 
work  was  honored  by  a  place  in  the  Salon,  and  he 
did  not  sell  a  picture  until  he  was  past  that  age. 
After  the  first  sale  had  been  made,  the  dear  old 
man  said  to  his  friends,  "Well,  I  have  sold  a 
picture  ;  but  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  now  my  collec- 
tion is  incomplete." 

We  have,  I  think,  a  natural  tendency  to  dignify 
the  events  of  the  past  beyond  their  deserts,  and 
so  we  often  throw  a  glamour  of  excellence  over 
departed  actors  which  we  would  not  accord  to 
them  if  they  were  here.  This,  of  course,  is 
erring  upon  the  safe  side.  The  only  danger  is 
that  our  reverence  may  at  times  cause  us  to  dis- 
parage the  good  qualities  of  those  who  are  among 
us.  Dramatic  affairs,  too,  have  undergone  a 
change  that  renders  a  fair  judgment  almost  im- 
possible. For  instance,  the  actors  of,  say,  forty 
years  ago  rarely  visited  the  smaller  cities:  they 
were  concentrated  in  the  larger  ones ;  but  now 
the  demand  for  dramatic  excellence  is  so  great, 
and  the  facilities  for  travel  are  so  extended,  that 
the  same  amount  of  talent  is  diffused  all  over  the 
world ;  so  we  are  apt  to  fancy  that  it  does  not 
exist  because  it  is  not  with  us.  If  all  the  great 
actors  of  to-day  were  concentrated  into  a  few 
companies  as  was  formerly  the  case,  we  would  be 
amazed  at  the  entertainment  they  would  give  us. 


MRS.    BARNEY    WILLIAMS. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  ART  OF  ACTING 

The  Dramatic  Instinct —  Spontaneity  and  Prepara- 
tion —  Rehearsals  —  A  Warm  Heart  and  a  Cool 

'  •» 

Head —  Taking  Time — Advice  to  Beginners  — 
Remarks  suggested  by  "Rip  Van  Winkle"  — 
Realism  and  Idealism  —  Dramatic  Writing 

DRAMATIC  instinct  is  inherent  throughout  the 
human  family.  Savages,  even  of  the  low- 
est type,  are  never  so  enthusiastic  as  when 
they  indulge  in  ceremonies  representing  death  and 
destruction.  They  will  start  upon  an  ideal  warpath, 
suddenly  stopping  to  scalp  an  imaginary  enemy. 
The  New  Zealanders,  who  both  physically  and 
intellectually  are  far  above  the  ordinary  savage,  are 
excellent  in  pantomimic  action.  They  will  even 
act  scenes  and  crudely  represent  historical  tradi- 
tions of  their  tribe. 

Watch  the  little  boy  in  frocks — not  two  years 
old.  If  you  would  delight  him,  fold  a  piece  of 
paper  in  the  shape  of  a  cocked  hat,  pop  it  on  his 
head,  then  give  him  a  stick,  and  in  a  moment  the 

425 


426  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

little  fellow  will  straighten  up  and  begin  to  march 
about,  pretending  that  he  is  a  soldier.  If  in 
another  year  you  supply  him  with  shovel  and 
wheelbarrow  you  will  see  him  trudge  off,  joining 
others  of  his  own  age  who  are  building  embank- 
ments or  digging  canals,  and  calling  one  another 
by  names  that  do  not  belong  to  them,  acting  and 
pretending  that  they  are  somebody  else.  A  group 
of  little  girls  will  not  have  been  in  the  room  to- 
gether twenty  minutes  before  one  will  play  lady,  as 
if  she  had  just  called,  and  another  pretend  she  is 
the  hostess,  and  the  smallest  of  all  act  mother,  and 
nurse  her  doll  with  loving  care.  After  a  time  the 
grown-up  people  in  the  room  will  draw  one  an- 
other's attention  to  this  little  drama,  and,  not  wish- 
ing to  interrupt  the  play,  will  quietly  nudge  their 
neighbors  and  nod  approvingly. 

The  lawyer  often  clears  his  guilty  client  by  de- 
picting the  sorrow  of  a  family  who  will  be  stricken 
with  grief  if  the  jury  should  convict.  The  influ- 
ence of  the  stage  has  crept  into  the  pulpit,  which 
to-day  contains  some  of  the  finest  actors  of  our 
time. 

Here  then  we  have  evidence  not  only  that  this 
dramatic  instinct  pervades  all  classes  of  humanity, 
but  that  its  possessors  insist  upon  displaying  their 
artistic  qualities.  And  the  encouragement  of  this 
desire  is  as  universal  as  the  gift ;  for  theaters, 
opera-houses,  lecture-rooms,  and  churches  all  over 
the  world  are  filled  with  eager  audiences  anxious 
to  witness  any  and  all  brilliant  dramatic  achieve- 
ments. The  demand,  too,  is  increasing.  Half  a 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  427 

century  ago  there  were  but  few  good  theaters  in 
America,  and  even  these  were  badly  lighted,  poorly 
heated,  and  indifferently  appointed.  In  many  of 
the  small  towns  the  only  places  used  for  dramatic 
entertainments  were  the  dining-rooms  of  the  hotels, 
from  which,  after  tea,  the  tables  were  removed  and 
the  chairs  set  back  that  the  play  might  be  acted. 
Now,  in  nearly  all  of  the  new  and  rising  cities,  the 
theater  or  the  opera-house  is  centrally  located ;  and 
it  is  generally  the  finest  building,  both  in  point  of 
size  and  architecture,  to  be  seen — heated  with 
steam,  lighted  by  electricity,  and  provided  with 
every  comfort.  Within  these  temples,  actors, 
opera-singers,  minstrels,  and  ministers  hold  forth, 
and  the  same  audience  goes  to  hear  them  all.  The 
desire  for  dramatic  entertainment  has  resolved 
itself  into  a  tidal  wave  that  nothing  can  stop,  par- 
ticularly as  there  is  no  desire  to  impede  it.  It  has 
not  the  fleeting  character  of  a  political  movement 
that  might  change  with  the  new  influence  of  the 
next  Administration;  it  belongs  to  no  party;  it 
is  born  of  no  sect ;  but  it  is  the  outcome  of  a  uni- 
versal passion. 

Naturally,  other  members  of  my  profession  have 
given  as  much  consideration  to  matters  connected 
with  their  art  as  I  have  —  perhaps  more.  It  is 
therefore  likely  that  a  few  may  think  as  I  do, 
many  may  differ  with  me,  though  possibly  some 
may  not  have  thought  about  the  matter  at  all. 

If  I  err  I  shall  be  glad  to  throw  off  my  pre- 
conceived ideas  and  adopt  other,  better,  and 
newer  methods.  In  fact,  I  have  already  dis- 


428  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


carded  many  pet  theories,  and,  as  I  have  grown 
older  and  more  experienced,  have  been  taught 
by  my  own  observations  and  the  successful 
achievements  of  others  that  there  is  always 
room  for  reform. 

Acting  has  been  so  much  a  part  of  my  life 
that  my  autobiography  could  scarcely  be  written 
without  jotting  down  my  reflections  upon  it,  and 
I  merely  make  this  little  preparatory  explanation 
to  apologize  for  any  dogmatic  tone  that  they  may 
possess,  and  to  say  that  I  present  them  merely  as 
a  seeker  after  truth  in  the  domain  of  art. 

In  admitting  the  analogy  that  undoubtedly 
exists  between  the  arts  of  painting,  poetry,  music, 
and  acting,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the 
three  former  are  opposed  to  the  latter,  in  at 
least  the  one  quality  of  permanence.  The  pic- 
ture, oratorio,  or  book  must  bear  the  test  of 
calculating  criticism,  whereas  the  work  of  an 
actor  is  fleeting:  it  not  only  dies  with  him,  but, 
through  his  different  moods,  may  vary  from  night 
to  night.  If  the  performance  be  indifferent  it  is 
no  consolation  for  the  audience  to  hear  that  the 
player  acted  well  last  night,  or  to  be  told  that  he 
will  act  better  to-morrow  night;  it  is  this  night 
that  the  public  has  to  deal  with,  and  the  impression 
the  actor  has  made,  good  or  bad,  remains  as  such 
upon  the  mind  of  that  particular  audience. 

The  author,  painter,  or  musician,  if  he  be  dis- 
satisfied with  his  work,  may  alter  and  perfect  it 
before  giving  it  publicity,  but  an  actor  cannot 
rub  out;  he  ought,  therefore,  in  justice  to  his 


JOHN     DREW    AS     "THE     IRISH     EMIGRANT/' 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  429 

audience,  to  be  sure  of  what  he  is  going  to 
place  before  it.  Should  a  picture  in  an  art  gal- 
lery be  carelessly  painted  we  can  pass  on  to 
another,  or  if  a  book  fails  to  please  us  we  can 
put  it  down.  An  escape  from  this  kind  of  dullness 
is  easily  made,  but  in  a  theater  the  auditor  is 
imprisoned.  If  the  acting  be  indifferent,  he  must 
endure  it,  at  least  for  a  time.  He  cannot  with- 
draw without  making  himself  conspicuous;  so  he 
remains,  hoping  that  there  may  be  some  im- 
provement as  the  play  proceeds,  or  perhaps  from 
consideration  for  the  company  he  is  in.  It  is  this 
helpless  condition  that  renders  careless  acting  so 
offensive. 

The  supremacy  in  both  the  writing  and  acting  of 
comedy  has  been  for  many  years  accorded  to  the 
French  stage.  My  opinion  upon  this  subject  will 
be  of  little  value.  An  American  comedian  acting 
only  in  the  English  language  could  scarcely  speak 
with  confidence  on  this  subject  unless  he  under- 
stood and  spoke  the  French  language  as  well  as  the 
French  actors  themselves.  In  tragedy  the  matter 
would  be  quite  different.  The  expressions  of  love, 
jealousy,  hate,  revenge,  pride,  madness,  or  despair 
are  so  pronounced  in  tragedy  that  we  can  judge  of 
their  intensity  and  effect  in  any  language.  Com- 
edy has  but  little  to  do  with  the  violent  exhibition 
of  these  passions.  Its  effects  are  more  subtile  and 
depend  much  upon  minute  detail  accompanied  by 
slight  but  most  important  inflections  of  the  voice, 
and  by  delicate  pantomime.  No  one  not  thoroughly 
and  practically  acquainted  with  the  French  Ian- 


430  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

guage  could  offer  a  fair  opinion  upon  French  act- 
ing. I  can  only  say  that  I  saw  much  of  French 
comedy  in  France  and  was  delighted  with  it.  Its 
grace  and  finish  were  quite  perfect,  and  in  acting 
their  own  comedy  I  should  say  that  the  comedians 
were  exceptionally  fine ;  but,  with  all  their  excel- 
lence, there  is  one  glaring  fault  which  I  think  I 
may  venture  to  express  condemnation  of,  no  mat- 
ter in  what  language  it  occurs,  and  which  I  think 
they  themselves  could  hardly  defend — I  mean  the 
unnatural  trick  of  speaking  soliloquy  and  side 
speeches  directly  to  the  audience.  We  should  act 
for  the  audience,  not  to  the  audience. 

To  appeal  every  now  and  then  to  the  front  of  the 
theater  for  recognition  is  an  exhibition  of  weakness. 
An  actor  who  cannot  speak  a  speech  with  his 
back  to  the  audience  when  the  situation  demands 
it  has  much  to  learn.  As  soon  as  we  acknowledge 
the  presence  of  the  public  we  dispel  its  attention 
and  ruin  its  enjoyment.  We  were  forced  to  do 
this  in  the  days  when  we  were  his  Majesty's  ser- 
vants, and  when  it  was  considered  disrespectful  to 
turn  our  backs  on  royalty.  How  absurd  to  see  a 
courtier  present  a  document  at  the  foot  of  the 
throne  in  the  play  and  sidle  up  the  stage  with  his 
back  to  the  mimic  king  because  the  real  article  is 
in  the  royal  box  ! 

I  have  seen  impulsive  actors  who  were  so  confi- 
dent of  their  power  that  they  left  all  to  chance. 
This  is  a  dangerous  course,  especially  when  acting 
a  new  character.  I  will  admit  that  there  are  many 
instances  where  great  effects  have  been  produced 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  431 

that  were  entirely  spontaneous,  and  were  as  much 
a  surprise  to  the  actors  who  made  them  as  they 
were  to  the  audience  that  witnessed  them ;  but  just 
as  individuals  who  have  exuberant  spirits  are  at 
times  dreadfully  depressed,  so  when  an  impulsive 
actor  fails  to  receive  his  inspiration  he  is  dull 
indeed,  and  is  the  more  disappointing  because  of 
his  former  brilliant  achievements. 

In  the  stage-management  of  a  play,  or  in  the  act- 
ing of  a  part,  nothing  should  be  left  to  chance,  and 
for  the  reason  that  spontaneity,  inspiration,  or  what- 
ever this  strange  and  delightful  quality  may  be 
called,  is  not  to  be  commanded,  or  we  should  give 
it  some  other  name.  It  is,  therefore,  better  that  a 
clear  and  unmistakable  outline  of  a  character  should 
be  drawn  before  an  actor  undertakes  a  new  part. 
If  he  has  a  well-ordered  and  an  artistic  mind  it 
is  likely  that  he  will  give  at  least  a  symmetrical 
and  effective  performance ;  but  should  he  make 
no  definite  arrangement,  and  depend  upon  our 
ghostly  friends  Spontaneity  and  Inspiration  to 
pay  him  a  visit,  and  should  they  decline  to  call, 
the  actor  will  be  in  a  maze  and  his  audience  in 
a  muddle. 

Besides,  why  not  prepare  to  receive  our  mys- 
terious friends  whether  they  come  or  not  ?  If  they 
fail  on  such  an  invitation  we  can  at  least  entertain 
our  other  guests  without  them ;  and  if  they  do  ap- 
pear, our  preconceived  arrangements  will  give  them 
a  better  welcome  and  put  them  more  at  ease. 

Acting  under  these  purely  artificial  conditions 
will  necessarily  be  cold,  but  the  care  with  which 


432  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  part  is  given  will  at  least  render  it  inoffensive ; 
they  are,  therefore,  primary  considerations,  and  not 
to  be  despised.  The  exhibition  of  artistic  care,  how- 
ever, does  not  alone  constitute  great  acting.  The 
inspired  warmth  of  passion  in  tragedy  and  the 
sudden  glow  of  humor  in  comedy  cover  the  artifi- 
cial framework  with  an  impenetrable  veil :  this  is 
the  very  climax  of  great  art,  for  which  there  seems 
to  be  no  other  name  but  genius.  It  is  then,  and 
then  only,  that  an  audience  feels  that  it  is  in  the 
presence  of  a  reality  rather  than  a  fiction.  To  an 
audience  an  ounce  of  genius  has  more  weight  than 
a  ton  of  talent ;  for  though  it  respects  the  latter,  it 
reverences  the  former.  But  the  creative  power, 
divine  as  it  may  be,  should  in  common  gratitude 
pay  due  regard  to  the  reflective;  for  Art  is  the 
handmaid  of  Genius,  and  only  asks  the  modest 
wages  of  respectful  consideration  in  payment  for 
her  valuable  services.  A  splendid  torrent  of  genius 
ought  never  to  be  checked,  but  it  should  be  wisely 
guided  into  the  deep  channel  of  the  stream  from 
whose  surface  it  will  then  reflect  Nature  without  a 
ripple.  Genius  dyes  the  hues  that  resemble  those 
of  the  rainbow ;  Art  fixes  the  colors  that  they  may 
stand.  In  the  race  for  fame  purely  artificial  actors 
cannot  hope  to  win  against  those  whose  genius  is 
guided  by  their  art ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  Intui- 
tion must  not  complain  if,  unbridled  or  with  too 
loose  a  rein,  it  stumbles  on  the  course,  and  so  al- 
lows a  well-ridden  hack  to  distance  it. 

Very  numerous  rehearsals  are  not  always  neces- 
sary to  attain  perfection  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the 


JOHN    T.    RAYMOND    AS    "COL.    SELLERS.' 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  433 

quality,  not  the  quantity,  that  is  important.  Tedious 
preparation  day  after  day  will  sometimes  pall  upon 
a  company  of  actors,  who,  wearied  by  constant  repe- 
tition, lose  the  freshness  with  which  their  perform- 
ance should  be  given  ;  and  that  quality  once  lost  is 
seldom  regained.  It  is  vain  for  a  manager  to  argue 
that  he  pays  the  actor  for  his  time  and  attention.  He 
has  a  perfect  right  to  these,  certainly  ;  but  the  feel- 
ing and  enthusiasm  with  which  the  time  and  atten- 
tion should  be  given  he  can  no  more  command  than 
he  can  alter  the  human  nature  of  his  company. 

Just  as  an  early  impression  is  the  most  indelible, 
so  the  first  rehearsal  is  the  most  important,  and 
being  so  should  never  be  called  until  the  author 
and  stage-manager  shall  have  fully  digested  their 
plans  and  thoroughly  understand  what  they  intend 
to  do.  This  course  not  only  saves  labor  but  begets 
the  respect  of  the  company,  who  feel  that  their 
time  will  not  be  wasted  and  that  they  are  in  the 
hands  of  patient  and  conscientious  directors. 

It  is  the  time-honored  excuse  of  some  actors 
that  they  cannot  study  a  part  until  they  have 
rehearsed  it,  forgetting  that  it  is  not  possible  to 
rehearse  properly  until  they  are  perfect  in  the 
words.  A  part  is  more  easily  studied  after  a 
rehearsal  of  it,  certainly ;  but  I  am  not  discussing 
ease,  remember,  but  propriety.  How  can*  we 
watch  the  action  and  progress  of  the  play  if 
our  eyes  are  bent  upon  the  book?  It  is  merely 
a  bad  habit,  and  one  that  has  grown  out  of  a 
desire  that  some  people  have  to  shirk  their  duty ; 
being  naturally  inclined  to  procrastination  they 


434  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

shelter  themselves  under  this  weak  and  conven- 
tional excuse. 

Usually  the  scenery  and  properties  of  a  play  are 
brought  into  requisition  during  the  later  rehearsals, 
and  increased  in  detail  till  they  culminate  at  the 
last  rehearsal. 

This  is  working  from  the  wrong  direction.  It  is 
at  the  first  rehearsal  that  these  adjuncts  should 
be  used,  and  if  they  are  not  ready  substitutes 
should  be  put  in  their  places ;  for  if  the  set  of 
the  scene,  the  chairs,  tables,  and  other  mechanical 
arrangements  are  placed  upon  the  stage  for  an 
initial  rehearsal,  the  manager  and  the  actors 
know  then  and  ever  afterwards  where  to  find 
them  and  how  to  arrange  their  groupings,  exits, 
entrances,  and  stage  business  in  accordance  with 
the  position  of  these  useful  materials ;  but  if,  after 
all  the  stage  business  has  been  arranged,  the 
company  suddenly  find  at  the  last  rehearsal  that 
chairs,  tables,  seats,  etc.  are  met  upon  the  stage 
in  unexpected  places,  they  become  obstacles  to  the 
actors  instead  of  adjuncts. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  entire  business  of 
a  play  can  be  arranged  at  the  first  rehearsal.  New 
ideas  continually  crop  up  during  the  early  stages 
of  preparation  which  upon  consideration  may  be 
more  valuable  than  the  original  ones,  and  actors 
may  have  suggestions  to  make,  the  effect  of  which 
had  not  struck  the  author.  But  while  a  good 
general  shows  his  genius  best  when  dealing  with 
an  emergency,  he  does  not  disdain  to  plan  the 
battle  before  the  action  takes  place. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  435 

Better  have  no  rehearsal  at  all  than  one  that  is 
long,  rambling,  and  careless :  a  clearly  cut  and 
perfectly  defined  outline  gives  precision  and  finish 
to  the  work.  If  it  were  possible  the  pantomime 
and  action  of  a  play  should  reveal  its  meaning  to 
an  audience  without  the  aid  of  dialogue ;  this 
would  give  force  to  the  language  and  enable  those 
who  do  not  catch  all  the  words  fully  to  comprehend 
their  meaning. 

An  audience  should  understand  what  the  actors 
are  doing  if  it  does  not  hear  all  that  they  are 
saying.  It  is  eager  to  do  this,  and  quite  competent, 
if  we  only  give  it  a  fair  opportunity ;  but  inartic- 
ulate delivery  and  careless  pantomime  will  not 
suffice. 

We  must  not  mistake  vagueness  for  suggestion, 
and  imagine  that  because  we  understand  the  mat- 
ter we  are  necessarily  conveying  it  to  others. 
Sheridan,  in  his  extravaganza  of  "  The  Critic ;  or, 
a  Tragedy  Rehearsed,"  gives  a  humorous  illustra- 
tion of  this  error.  During  the  rehearsal  of  Mr. 
Puff's  play  the  character  of  Lord  Burleigh  enters, 
walking  slowly  and  majestically  down  to  the  foot- 
lights. The  noble  knight  folds  his  arms,  shakes 
his  head  solemnly,  and  then  makes  his  exit  without 
saying  a  word. 

"What  does  he  mean  by  shaking  his  head  in 
that  manner  ? "  asks  Mr.  Dangle,  a  theatrical 
critic. 

To  which  Mr.  Puff  replies:  "  Don't  you  know? 
Why,  by  that  shake  of  the  head  he  gave  you  to 
understand  that  even  though  they  had  more 


436  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

tice  in  their  cause  and  more  wisdom  in  their 
measures,  yet,  if  there  was  not  a  greater  spirit 
shown  on  the  part  of  the  people,  the  country 
would  at  last  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  hostile  ambition 
of  the  Spanish  monarchy." 

"  Did  he  mean  all  that  by  shaking  his  head  ?  " 
asks  Mr.  Dangle. 

To  which  Mr.  Puff  replies,  "Yes,  sir;  if  he 
shook  it  as  I  told  him." 

As  this  satire  was  written  over  a  hundred  years 
ago,  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  vanity  of  vagueness 
is  not  a  new  histrionic  development. 

And  here  the  quality  of  permanence  as  allied  to 
the  other  arts  and  not  to  acting  presents  itself.  If 
we  do  not  at  first  understand  a  great  picture,  a  fine 
piece  of  music,  or  a  poem,  each  of  these,  being  tan- 
gible, still  remains ;  so,  should  we  desire  it,  we  can 
familiarize  ourselves  with  it,  and  as  we  grow  older 
and  become  more  highly  cultivated  we  will  under- 
stand a  school  of  art  that  was  at  first  obscure.  But 
there  must  be  no  vagueness  in  acting.  The  sug- 
gestion should  be  unmistakable  ;  it  must  be  leveled 
at  the  whole  audience,  and  reach  with  unerring  aim 
the  boy  in  the  gallery  and  the  statesman  in  the 
stalls. 

A  reminiscence  of  some  forty  years  ago  will 
serve  to  illustrate  the  value  of  careful  preparation 
at  rehearsal. 

The  production  at  Burton's  Theater  of  "Dombey 
and  Son,"  dramatized  by  Mr.  Brougham,  was  a  curi- 
ous combination  of  failure  and  success.  Much  was 
expected  of  Burton's  Captain  Cuttle,  and  to  the 


JOHN     MCCULLOL'GH     AS     ' ;  VIRG1NIUS. ' 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  437 

surprise  of  the  expectant  critics  and  of  Burton 
himself  he  did  nothing  with  it.  Brougham  was 
equally  dull  as  the  two  B's,  Bunsby  and  Bagstock  ; 
the  hit  of  the  piece,  at  least  on  its  first  production, 
was  made  by  Oliver  Raymond  as  Toots.  This 
gentleman  had  been  previously  an  obscure  actor, 
but  on  making  a  success  in  a  play  wherein  Burton 
had  failed,  he  came  to  the  front  at  once  and  was 
the  lion  of  the  hour. 

Burton's  failure  as  CiUtle  was  easily  accounted 
for.  He  had  studied  the  character  carelessly,  and 
not  only  was  imperfect  in  the  text  but  had  been 
absent  from  many  of  the  rehearsals,  relying  too 
much  upon  his  great  powers  and  the  spontaneity 
of  his  dramatic  resources.  He  was  usually  able  to 
command  them,  but  during  the  first  run  of  this  piece 
they  played  him  truant.  Dismayed  at  his  own 
failure  and  mortified  at  young  Raymond's  success, 
the  manager  took  the  drama  from  the  bills  and 
substituted  another  programme.  Not  satisfied  with 
Brougham's  adaptation, —  for  the  novel  had  been 
badly  dramatized, —  he  and  the  adapter  worked 
together  to  reconstruct  the  play. 

The  great  comedian  now  set  himself  seriously  to 
work  on  the  character,  perfecting  himself  in  the 
words,  and  amplifying  the  part  by  the  introduction 
of  stage-business  and  by-play.  In  this  kind  of  in- 
genious elaboration  he  was  a  master,  and  clearly 
proved  it  on  the  revival  of  the  discarded  play.  His 
performance  was  in  magnificent  condition  when  I 
witnessed  it,  and  who  that  ever  saw  Burton  as 
Captain  Cuttle,  Mariner,  can  ever  forget  it  ?  What 


438  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

expression!  what  breadth!  what  humor  !  and  what 
tenderness ! 

In  the  scene  vi\\h: Florence  Dombey  where  he  is 
trying  to  reveal  to  her  that  her  lover,  supposed  to 
be  drowned,  was  rescued,  he  sits  awkwardly  shift- 
ing his  position  from  side  to  side,  puffs  his  pipe,  and 
tells  his  tale,  letting  the  story  go  from  him  little  by 
little  and  hauling  it  back  lest  the  joyful  tidings 
should  be  too  great  a  shock,  his  fat  face  drawn 
down  with  serio-comic  emotion,  his  eyes  protruding 
in  a  solemn,  stupid  stare,  and  his  utterance  choked 
with  tears  that  seem  to  force  themselves  out  and 
mingle  with  the  smoke.  As  the  door  bursts  open 
and  the  returned  lover  clasps  his  sweetheart  in 
his  arms,  the  captain  jumps  from  his  seat,  cocks 
his  tarpaulin  hat  over  his  eyes,  folds  his  arms 
tightly,  and,  trying  to  whistle  a  tune,  bursts  into 
tears  and  dances  a  sailor's  hornpipe  around  the 
loving  couple.  I  had  heard  of  his  missing  the 
part  at  first ;  but  he  was  in  the  height  of  his  triumph 
when  I  saw  the  performance,  and  it  was  amazing  to 
see  into  what  a  superb  success  he  had  elaborated 
a  failure. 

If  any  proofs  were  wanting  that  an  actor,  no 
matter  how  great,  should  arrange  the  mechanical 
details  of  his  work  before  he  presents  it  to  the 
public,  the  failure  and  ultimate  success  of  Burton's 
Captain  Cuttle  offer  sufficient  evidence.  Here 
stood  an  actor  to  whom  dramatic  genius  was 
universally  accorded.  Yet  even  he  had  been 
taught  a  lesson,  and  learned  not  to  place  too 
much  confidence  in  the  spur  of  the  moment. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  439 

Much  has  been  written  upon  the  question  as  to 
whether  an  actor  ought  to  feel  the  character  he  acts 
or  be  dead  to  any  sensations  in  this  direction.  Ex- 
cellent artists  differ  in  their  opinions  on  this  impor- 
tant point.  In  discussing  it  I  must  refer  to  some 
words  I  wrote  in  one  of  the  early  chapters  of  this 
book: 

The  methods  by  which  actors  arrive  at  great  effects  vary  ac- 
cording to  their  own  natures ;  this  renders  the  teaching  of  the 
art  by  any  strictly  defined  lines  a  difficult  matter. 

There  has  lately  been  a  discussion  on  the  sub- 
ject, in  which  many  have  taken  part,  and  one  quite 
notable  debate  between  two  distinguished  actors, 
one  of  the  English  and  the  other  of  the  French 
stage.  These  gentlemen,  though  they  differ  en- 
tirely in  their  ideas,  are,  nevertheless,  equally  right. 
The  method  of  one,  I  have  no  doubt,  is  the  best  he 
could  possibly  devise  for  himself;  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  the  rules  of  the  other  as  applied  to 
himself.  But  they  must  work  with  their  own  tools; 
if  they  had  to  adopt  each  other's  they  would  be  as 
much  confused  as  if  compelled  to  exchange  lan- 
guages. One  believes  that  he  must  feel  the  char- 
acter he  plays,  even  to  the  shedding  of  real  tears, 
while  the  other  prefers  never  to  lose  himself  for 
an  instant,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  both 
act  with  more  effect  by  adhering  to  their  own 
dogmas. 

For  myself,  I  know  that  I  act  best  when  the 
heart  is  warm  and  the  head  is  cool.  In  observing 
the  works  of  great  painters  I  find  that  they  have 


440  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

no  conventionalities  except  their  own ;  hence  they 
are  masters,  and  each  is  at  the  head  of  his  own 
school.  They  are  original,  and  could  not  imitate 
even  if  they  would. 

So  with  acting,  no  master-hand  can  prescribe 
rules  for  the  head  of  another  school.  If,  then,  I 
appear  bold  in  putting  forth  my  suggestions,  I  de- 
sire it  to  be  clearly  understood  that  I  do  not  present 
them  to  original  or  experienced  artists  who  have 
formed  their  school,  but  to  the  student  who  may 
have  a  temperament  akin  to  my  own,  and  who 
could,  therefore,  blend  my  methods  with  his  pre- 
conceived ideas. 

I  think  it  is  generally  conceded  that  imitators 
are  seldom  fine  actors,  though  they  are  usually 
great  favorites  with  the  public.  I  confess  that  I 
enjoy  the  exhibitions  of  this  kind  of  talent  exceed- 
ingly. There  is  something  very  attractive  and 
even  strange  to  see  one  man  display  the  voice, 
manner,  and  expression  of  another — particularly 
if  that  other  be  not  yourself.  We  may  enjoy  the 
imitation  of  our  dearest  friends,  but  our  smiles 
vanish  and  our  faces  elongate  if  the  mimic  attempts 
to  give  "a  counterfeit  presentment"  of  the  party 
of  the  first  part.  I  have  heroically  tried  on  sev- 
eral occasions  to  enjoy  imitations  of  myself,  but 
have  never  succeeded.  These  ingenious  tran- 
scripts contain  a  slight  touch  of  ridicule  that  always 
offends  the  original.  An  anecdote  of  Mr.  Buck- 
stone,  the  English  comedian,  will  serve  to  illustrate 
what  I  have  said.  He  was  an  actor  whose  man- 
nerisms were  so  marked  that  they  infused  them- 


J.    B.    BUCKSTONE. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  441 

selves  through  all  the  characters  he  played.  He 
was  undoubtedly  humorous,  or,  more  properly 
speaking,  funny;  but  whether  he  acted  Sir  An- 
drew Aguecheek  or  Cousin  Joe  he  seemed  to  have 
no  power  of  embodying  the  character — rendering 
each  of  them  with  the  same  voice,  manner,  and 
attitude ;  consequently,  he  was  an  admirable  sub- 
ject for  imitation. 

At  the  close  of  a  dinner  party  he  had  been 
given  to  understand  that  there  was  a  person 
present  who  gave  an  excellent  imitation  of  him- 
self. Buckstone  at  once  desired  the  gentleman 
to  let  the  company  have  a  test  of  his  quality. 
The  gentleman  politely  declined,  saying  that  he 
might  give  offense;  but  the  comedian  would  not 
let  him  off,  insisted  on  the  exhibition,  and,  rubbing 
his  hands  together  with  great  glee,  settled  him- 
self down  for  unlimited  enjoyment.  The  imitator, 
seeing  that  there  was  no  escape,  arose,  and  amid 
breathless  silence  began.  His  hit  was  immense, 
and  as  he  sat  down  the  guests  broke  forth  in  loud 
laughter  and  applause  :  the  whole  table  was  in  a 
roar  of  merriment ;  every  one  was  in  ecstasy 
except  Buckstone,  who  looked  the  picture  of 
misery. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Buckstone,"  exclaimed  a  wag,  who 
was  quietly  enjoying  the  comedian's  discomfiture, 
"  don't  you  think  the  imitation  very  fine?" 

"  It  may  be,"  he  replied,  "but  I  think  I  could  do 
it  better  myself." 

Acting  is  more  a  gift  than  an  art.  I  have  seen  a 
child  impress  an  audience  by  its  natural  grace  and 


442  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

magnetism.  The  little  creature  was  too  young  to 
know  what  art  meant,  but  it  had  the  gift  of  acting. 
The  great  value  of  art  when  applied  to  the  stage 
is  that  it  enables  the  performer  to  reproduce  the 
gift,  and  so  move  his  audience  night  after  night, 
even  though  he  has  acted  the  same  character  a 
thousand  times.  In  fact,  we  cannot  act  a  character 
too  often,  if  we  do  not  lose  interest  in  it.  But 
when  its  constant  repetition  palls  on  the  actor  it 
will  as  surely  weary  his  audience.  When  you 
lose  interest  —  stop  acting. 

This  loss  of  interest  on  the  part  of  the  actor  may 
not  be  visible  in  the  action  or  pantomime  ;  but 
unless  care  and  judgment  are  observed  it  will 
assuredly  betray  itself  in  the  delivery  of  the  lan- 
guage, and  more  particularly  in  the  long  speeches 
and  soliloquies.  In  dialogue  the  spirit  of  the  other 
actors  serves  to  stimulate  and  keep  him  up ;  but 
when  alone,  and  unaided  by  the  eye  and  presence 
of  a  companion,  the  old  story  fails  to  kindle  the 
fire.  An  anecdote  of  Macready  that  I  heard  many 
years  ago  throws  a  flood  of  light  upon  this  subject; 
and  as  I  think  it  too  important  a  one  to  remain 
in  obscurity  I  will  relate  it  as  I  got  it  from  Mr. 
Couldock,  and  then  refer  to  its  influence  upon 
myself  and  the  means  I  used  to  profit  by  it.  The 
incident  occurred  in  Birmingham,  England,  some 
forty  years  ago.  The  narrator  was  present  and 
naturally  listened  with  interest  to  a  conversation 
upon  art  between  two  such  able  exponents  of  it 
as  Mr.  Macready  and  Mrs.  Warner.  What  they 
said  referred  to  an  important  scene  in  the  tragedy 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  443 

of  " Werner,"  which  had  been  acted  the  evening 
before. 

Mr.  Macready,  it  seems,  had  much  respect  for 
Mrs.  Warner's  judgment  in  matters  relating  to  the 
stage,  and  desired  to  consult  her  on  the  merits  and 
demerits  of  the  preceding  evening's  performance. 
As  nearly  as  can  be  remembered,  his  question  and 
her  reply  were  as  follows : 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  Macready,  "you  have 
acted  with  me  in  the  tragedy  of  *  Werner '  for  many 
years,  and  naturally  must  be  very  familiar  with  it 
and  with  my  manner  of  acting  that  character.  I 
have  noticed  lately,  and  more  particularly  last 
evening,  that  some  of  the  passages  in  the  play  do 
not  produce  the  effect  that  they  formerly  did. 
There  is  a  certain  speech  especially  that  seems  to 
have  lost  its  power.  I  refer  to  the  one  wherein 
Werner  excuses  himself  to  his  son  for  the  'petty 
plunder'  of  Stralenkeim 's  gold.  In  our  earlier 
performances,  if  you  remember,  this  apology  was 
received  with  marked  favor,  and,  as  you  must  have 
observed,  last  evening  it  produced  no  apparent 
effect ;  can  you  form  any  idea  why  this  should  be  ? 
Is  it  that  the  audience  has  grown  too  familiar  with 
the  story  ?  I  must  beg  you  to  be  candid  with  me. 
I  shall  not  be  offended  by  any  adverse  criticism  you 
may  make,  should  you  say  that  the  fault  is  with  me." 

"Well,  Mr.  Macready,  since  you  desire  that  I 
should  speak  plainly,"  said  Mrs.  W'arner,  "I  do 
not  think  it  is  because  your  audience  is  too  fa- 
miliar with  the  story,  but  because  you  are  too 
familiar  with  it  yourself." 


444  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"I  thank  you,  madam,"  said  Macready ;  "but 
how  does  this  mar  the  effect  of  the  speech  ?  " 

"Thus,"  said  Mrs.  Warner.  "When  you  spoke 
that  speech  ten  years  ago  there  was  a  surprise 
in  your  face  as  though  you  then  only  realized 
what  you  had  done.  You  looked  shocked  and 
bewildered,  and  in  a  forlorn  way  seemed  to  cast 
about  for  words  that  would  excuse  the  crime ; 
and  all  this  with  a  depth  of  feeling  and  sincerity 
that  would  naturally  come  from  an  honest  man  who 
had  been  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  accused  of 
theft." 

"  That  is  as  it  should  be  given,"  said  Macready. 
"  And  now,  madam  ?  " 

"You  speak  it,"  said  his  frank  critic,  "like  one 
who  has  committed  a  great  many  thefts  in  his  life, 
and  whose  glib  excuses  are  so  pat  and  frequent 
that  he  is  neither  shocked,  surprised,  nor  abashed 
at  the  accusation." 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,"  said  the  old  actor.  "  The 
distinction  may  appear  at  first  as  a  nice  one,  but 
there  is  much  in  it." 

When  I  heard  the  story  from  Mr.  Couldock  it 
struck  me  with  much  force.  I  knew  then  that  I 
had  been  unconsciously  falling  into  the  same  error, 
and  I  felt  that  the  fault  would  increase  rather  than 
diminish  with  time  if  I  could  not  hit  upon  some 
method  to  check  it.  I  began  by  listening  to  each 
important  question  as  though  it  had  been  given 
for  the  first  time,  turning  the  query  over  in  my 
mind  and  then  answering  it,  even  at  times  hesi- 
tating as  if  for  want  of  words  to  frame  the  reply. 


SARAH     STEVENS. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  445 

I  will  admit  that  this  is  dangerous  ground  and  apt 
to  render  one  slow  and  prosy ;  in  fact,  I  was 
accused,  and  I  dare  say  quite  justly,  of  pausing 
too  long.  This,  of  course,  was  the  other  extreme 
and  had  to  be  looked  to,  so  that  it  became  neces- 
sary that  the  pauses  should,  by  the  manner  and 
pantomime,  be  made  sufficiently  interesting  not  to 
weary  an  audience ;  so  I  summed  it  up  somewhat 
after  the  advice  of  Mr.  Lewes — to  take  time  with- 
out appearing  to  take  time. 

It  is  the  freshness,  the  spontaneity,  of  acting  that 
charms.  How  can  a  weary  brain  produce  this 
quality?  Show  me  a  tired  actor  and  I  will  show 
you  a  dull  audience.  They  may  go  in  crowds  to 
see  him,  and  sit  patiently  through  his  perform- 
ance. They  have  heard  that  he  is  great,  they 
may  even  know  it  from  past  experience ;  so  they 
accept  the  indifferent  art,  thinking,  perhaps,  that 
they  are  to  blame  for  a  lack  of  enthusiasm. 

Pantomimic  action,  unless  it  is  in  perfect  har- 
mony with  the  scene,  is  fatal  to  the  effect  of  a  deli- 
cate point.  If  the  situation  be  a  violent  one,  such 
as  the  preparation  for  battle  in  "  Richard,"  or  where 
Hamlet's  uncle  rises  from  his  seat  in  the  play 
scene,  dismissing  the  audience,  the  situation 
being  pronounced  and  the  action  strong,  indiffer- 
ent pantomime  upon  the  part  of  the  actors  might 
not  be  noticed  in  the  bustle  and  excitement. 
But,  to  exemplify  my  meaning,  let  us  take  a  point 
where  the  audience  is  called  upon,  not  for  enthusi- 
astic applause  but  for  rapt  attention  ;  where  the 
situation  is  so  subtile  that  the  head  bowed  slowly 


446  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

down,  or  a  movement  of  the  eye,  will  reveal  the 
meaning.  Now,  at  this  critical  point,  if  one  of 
the  actors  should  even  remove  his  hat,  or  unmean- 
ingly shift  his  position,  he  will  destroy  the  effect. 
The  finer  the  acting  the  more  easily  the  effect  is 
destroyed,  just  as  a  scratch  will  disfigure  a  polished 
surface  that  would  not  show  on  the  face  of  a  cob- 
blestone. 

The  audience  cannot  look  in  two  places  at  once ; 
the  eye  is  such  a  tyrant  that  it  distracts  from  the 
subject  "then  necessary  to  be  considered,"  direct- 
ing the  attention  to  a  useless  and  intrusive  move- 
ment. The  value  of  repose  is  so  great  that  it  is 
difficult  to  estimate  it. 

At  rehearsal  the  amateur  having  finished  his 
speech  invariably  asks  the  stage-manager  what 
he  should  do  next.  As  soon  as  he  ceases  to  be  the 
interesting  figure  he  should  observe  the  action  of 
the  other  characters ;  this  is  the  most  natural  by- 
play and  the  least  likely  to  do  harm.  It  acts  like 
the  distance  in  a  picture,  which,  by  being  subdued, 
gives  strength  to  the  foreground.  But  the  tyro  is 
generally  fearful  that  he  will  fail  to  attract  atten- 
tion, whereas  obscurity  instead  of  prominence  may 
at  that  time  be  the  most  desirable.  To  do  nothing 
upon  the  stage  seems  quite  simple,  but  some  people 
never  acquire  this  negative  capacity. 

It  is  David's  speech  (in  "  The  Rivals  ")  that  terri- 
fies Acres.  How  could  an  audience  get  the  full  value 
of  what  David  says  if  they  were  looking  at  the  face 
Qi Acres f  The  two  characters  would  conflict  with 
each  other,  and  so  rob  the  picture  of  clearness. 


V 
OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  447 

But  if  Acres  here  will  subdue  his  personality  and 
sink,  as  it  were,  into  the  background,  the  audience 
will  get  the  full  force  of  what  David  says,  and 
become  as  perfectly  saturated  with  its  meaning 
as  Acres  himself.  Now  see  how  fully  they  are 
prepared  to  receive  the  expression  of  fear  from 
the  latter.  After  David's  scene  is  over,  Acres 
has  the  audience  at  his  full  command  —  the  slight- 
est suggestion  from  him  is  taken  up  at  once. 
They  know  his  character  and  realize  his  position  as 
vividly  as  he  does  himself;  it  is  because  they  have 
had  the  full  and  uninterrupted  benefit  of  the  previous 
scene.  If,  during  David's  speech,  I,  as  Acres,  show 
my  face  to  the  audience  or  pull  out  my  handker- 
chief and  weep,  I  might  gain  a  temporary  advan- 
tage, but  I  should  weaken  David,  and  in  the  end 
mar  the  effect  of  my  own  character ;  and,  believe 
me,  an  audience  is  always  grateful  to  an  actor  who 
directs  its  attention  the  right  way.  The  traveler 
thanks  the  truthful  finger-post,  but  never  forgives 
the  rascal  who  has  misdirected  him. 

Nothing  in  art  is  more  distressing  than  to  see 
an  actor  attract  the  attention  of  the  audience, 
from  an  interesting  point  in  the  performance,  by 
the  introduction  of  some  unimportant  by-play. 
At  times  this  is  done  from  ignorance,  but,  I 
regret  to  say,  often  through  jealousy.  This  un- 
fair spirit  reflects  back  upon  the  guilty  party, 
for  the  public  resent  it  quietly  while  the  offender 
least  suspects  it :  their  enjoyment  has  been  marred, 
and  the  obnoxious  cause  of  it  has  only  consoled 
them  by  a  display  of  unmeaning  activity  ;  they 


448  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

refuse  this  rubbish  and  inwardly  mark  the  indi- 
vidual who  has  had  the  impertinence  to  offer  it. 
But  as  two  pigs  under  a  gate  make  more  noise 
than  one,  it  is  still  worse  to  see  a  pair  of  ranters 
or  a  couple  of  buffoons  trying  to  outdo  each  other. 
There  is  but  one  recompense ;  they  are  both 
self-slaughtered  in  the  conflict, 

As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together, 
And  choke  their  art. 

Many  instructors  in  the  dramatic  art  fall  into 
the  error  of  teaching  too  much.  The  pupil  should 
first  be  allowed  to  exhibit  his  quality,  and  so  teach 
the  teacher  what  to  teach.  This  course  would 
answer  the  double  purpose  of  first  revealing  how 
much  the  pupil  is  capable  of  learning,  and,  what  is 
still  more  important,  of  permitting  him  to  display 
his  powers  untrammeled.  Whereas,  if  the  master 
begins  by  pounding  his  dogmas  into  the  student, 
the  latter  becomes  environed  by  a  foreign  influence 
which,  if  repugnant  to  his  nature,  may  smother 
his  ability. 

It  is  necessary  to  be  cautious  in  studying  elocu- 
tion and  gesticulation,  lest  they  become  our  masters 
instead  of  our  servants.  These  necessary  but  dan- 
gerous ingredients  must  be  administered  and  taken 
in  homeopathic  doses,  or  the  patient  may  die  by 
being  over-stimulated.  But  even  at  the  risk 
of  being  artificial,  it  is  better  to  have  studied 
these  arbitrary  rules  than  to  enter  a  profession 
with  no  knowledge  whatever  of  its  mechanism. 
Dramatic  instinct  is  so  implanted  in  humanity 


CHARLOTTE    CUSHMAN. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  449 

that  it  sometimes  misleads  us,  fostering  the  idea 
that  because  we  have  the  natural  talent  within, 
we  are  equally  endowed  with  the  power  of 
bringing  it  out.  This  is  the  common  error,  the 
rock  on  which  the  histrionic  aspirant  is  oftenest 
wrecked.  Very  few  actors  succeed  who  crawl  into 
the  service  through  "the  cabin  windows";  and 
if  they  do  it  is  a  lifelong  regret  with  them  that 
they  did  not  exert  their  courage  and  sail  at  first 
"  before  the  mast." 

Many  of  the  shining  lights  who  now  occupy  the 
highest  positions  on  the  stage,  and  whom  the  public 
voice  delights  to  praise,  have  often  appeared  in  the 
dreaded  character  of  "omnes,"  marched  in  proces- 
sions, sung  out  of  tune  in  choruses,  and  shouted 
themselves  hoarse  for  Brutus  and  Mark  Antony. 

If  necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention,  she  is 
the  foster-mother  of  art,  for  the  greatest  actors 
that  ever  lived  have  drawn  their  early  nourish- 
ment from  her  breast.  We  learn  our  profession 
by  the  mortifications  we  are  compelled  to  go 
through  in  order  to  get  a  living.  The  sons  and 
daughters  of  wealthy  parents  who  have  money 
at  their  command,  and  can  settle  their  weekly 
expenses  without  the  assistance  of  the  box-office, 
indignantly  refuse  to  lower  themselves  by  assum- 
ing some  subordinate  character  for  which  they  are 
cast,  and  march  home  because  their  fathers  and 
mothers  will  take  care  of  them.  Well,  they  had 
better  stay  there ! 

If  Edmund  Kean  had  been  wealthy  the  chances 
are  that  he  never  would  have  submitted  to  the 


450  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

insults  of  the  manager  and  some  of  the  actors 
during  the  memorable  rehearsal  at  Drury  Lane 
Theater.  He  perhaps  would  have  broken  his 
engagement  and  retired  from  the  stage  in  dis- 
gust; but  half-starved  and  threadbare,  his  loved 
wife  and  child  living  in  a  garret,  he  had  a  noble 
motive  to  stimulate  his  power,  and  I  believe  that 
Kean  on  the  night  of  his  first  appearance  in 
London  was  a  greater  actor  than  he  had  ever 
been  before.  His  situation  was  desperate,  and 
aroused  the  slumbering  genius  within  him.  The 
whole  history  of  that  eventful  night  impresses 
one  with  the  idea  that  he  himself  was  surprised 
at  what  he  did. 

Fitzgerald,  in  his  admirable  "  Romance  of  the 
English  Stage,"  says  that  "  Kean  had  a  gallant 
confidence  in  himself  all  through."  There  is 
nothing  in  the  story  that  implies  this.  He  had 
courage,  no  doubt,  or  he  could  not  have  made 
the  effort ;  but  it  was  fitful  and  uncertain.  Genius 
is  seldom  confident.  Fitzgerald  himself  quotes 
the  last  words  Kean  said  as  he  left  his  house 
for  the  theater.  "  He  kissed  his  wife  and  infant 
son,  and  muttered,  '  I  wish  I  were  going  to  be 
shot."1  There  is  no  confidence  in  these  terrible 
words.  They  show  the  brave  nature  of  the  man 
because  he  was  not  confident.  Who  can  say  how 
fervently  he  may  have  prayed  as  he  trudged 
through  the  dark,  wet  streets,  with  a  beating 
heart  and  a  nervous  foreboding  of  disaster  in 
the  approaching  trial.  His  hit  was  tremendous, 
and,  when  the  manager  congratulated  him  on 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  451 

his  wonderful  success,  in  Kean's  own  description 
of  the  event  he  said,  "The  pit  rose  at  me."  This 
sounds  confident,  I  admit;  but  the  remark  was  made 
after  the  battle  was  won. 

The  whole  picture  is  more  interesting  and  truth- 
ful when  we  view  the  man  as  being  fully  alive  to  the 
danger  of  the  situation  and  apprehensive  lest  the 
invisible  genius  within  him  should  fail  to  appear. 
When  this  mysterious  influence,  which  comes  un- 
bidden, burst  forth  at  the  theater  that  night,  the 
public  were  amazed,  the  critics  stunned,  and  Kean 
himself  was  surprised.  No  intellectual  effort  could 
have  created  this  effect.  The  source  of  genius 
is  in  the  soul ;  it  seldom  aims  at  the  brains  of 
the  audience,  but  oftener  shoots  at  their  hearts 
through  its  own.  It  shrinks  from  assuming  the 
arrogance  that  commands  attention,  and  modestly 
invites  it. 

But  whether  you  are  rich  or  poor,  if  you  would 
be  an  actor  begin  at  the  beginning.  This  is  the 
old  conventional  advice,  and  is  as  good  now  in  its 
old  age  as  it  was  in  its  youth.  All  actors  will 
agree  in  this,  and  as  Puff  says,  in  "  The  Critic," 
"When  they  do  agree  on  the  stage  the  unanimity 
is  wonderful."  Enroll  yourself  as  a  "super"  in 
some  first-class  theater,  where  there  is  a  stock 
company  and  likely  to  be  a  periodical  change  of 
programme,  so  that  even  in  your  low  degree  the 
practice  will  be  varied.  After  having  posed  a 
month  as  an  innocent  English  rustic,  you  may,  in 
the  next  play,  have  an  opportunity  of  being  a  noble 
Roman.  Do  the  little  you  have  to  do  as  well  as 


452  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


you  can  ;  if  you  are  in  earnest  the  stage-mana- 
ger will  soon  notice  it,  and  your  advancement  will 
begin  at  once.  You  have  now  made  the  plunge, 
the  ice  is  broken  ;  there  is  no  more  degradation 
for  you,  and  every  step  you  take  is  forward. 

A  great  American  statesman  said,  "  There  is 
always  plenty  of  room  at  the  top."  So  there  is, 
Mr.  Webster,  after  you  get  there.  But  we  must 
climb,  and  climb  slowly  too,  so  that  we  can  look 
back  without  any  unpleasant  sensations  ;  for  if  we 
are  cast  suddenly  upon  the  giddy  height,  our  heads 
will  swim  and  down  we  go.  Look  also  at  the  diffi- 
culties that  will  beset  you  by  beginning  "  at  the 
top."  In  the  first  place,  no  manager  in  his  senses 
will  permit  it  ;  and  if  he  did,  your  failure  —  which  is 
almost  inevitable  —  not  only  will  mortify  you,  but 
your  future  course  for  some  time  to  come  will  be 
on  the  downward  path.  Then,  in  disgust,  sore  and 
disheartened,  you  will  retire  from  the  profession 
which  perhaps  your  talents  might  have  ornamented 
if  they  had  been  properly  developed. 

While  acting  once  in  Boston  I  received  a  note 
from  the  publisher  of  "The  Atlantic  Monthly,"  to 
know  if  I  would  call  at  the  publishing  house  to 
meet  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  It  seems  the 
lady  had  been  at  the  theater  where  I  had  acted  the 
night  before,  and  in  a  note  to  the  publisher  had 
expressed  a  desire  to  see  me.  We  had  a  long  and, 
to  me,  a  very  pleasant  chat.  In  speaking  of  her 
visit  to  the  theater  she  said  she  was  struck  by  the 
scene  in  which  Rip  meets  with  his  daughter,  and 
that  it  reminded  her  of  the  situation  between  Lear 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON     AS    "RIP    VAN    WINKLE. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  453 

and  Cordelia.  I  told  her  that  the  scene  was  un- 
doubtedly modeled  on  the  one  from  Shakspere,  and 
perhaps  the  white  hair  and  beard  floating  about 
the  head  of  the  old  Knickerbocker  had  some  share 
in  this  likeness.  She  said  she  was  sure  that  I 
could  play  Lear.  I  was  sorry  to  differ  with  a  lady, 
but  I  told  her  I  was  quite  sure  that  I  could  not. 

Shortly  after  this  I  met  another  lady  of  equal 
intelligence,  who  seemed  much  interested  in  Rip 
Van  Winkle.  Among  the  many  questions  she 
asked  of  me  was  how  I  could  act  the  character 
so  often  and  not  tire  of  it.  I  told  her  that  I  had 
always  been  strangely  interested  in  the  part,  and 
fearing  that  I  might  eventually  grow  weary  of  it, 
I  had  of  late  years  so  arranged  my  seasons  that  I 
played  only  a  few  months  and  took  long  spells 
of  rest  between  them,  but  that  my  great  stimulus,  of 
course,  was  public  approval,  and  the  knowledge 
that  it  must  cease  if  I  flagged  in  my  interest  or 
neglected  to  give  my  entire  attention  to  the  work 
while  it  was  progressing. 

"Another  question,  please.  Why  don't  you  have 
a  dog  in  the  play  ?  " 

I  replied  that  I  disliked  realism  in  art,  and  realism 
alive,  with  a  tail  to  wag  at  the  wrong  time,  would 
be  abominable. 

"  But  don't  you  think  that  the  public  would  like 
to  see  Schneider  f  " 

"The  public  could  not  pay  him  a  higher  compli- 
ment, for  it  shows  how  great  an  interest  they  take 
in  an  animal  that  has  never  been  exhibited.  No, 
no ;  '  hold  the  mirror  up  to  nature '  if  you  like,  but 


454  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

don't  hold  nature  up — a  reflection  of  the  thing,  but 
not  the  thing  itself.  How  badly  would  a  drunken 
man  give  an  exhibition  of  intoxication  on  the  stage! 
Who  shall  act  a  madman  but  one  who  is  perfectly 
sane?  We  must  not  be  natural  but  appear  to 
be  so." 

"  One  question  more,  and  I  have  done.  Why 
do  you  not  refuse  the  cup  that  Gretchen  offers 
you  at  the  end  of  the  play  ?" 

To  which  I  replied :  "  Should  Rip  refuse  the  cup 
the  drama  would  become  at  once  a  temperance 
play.  This  subject  has  both  its  adherents  and  its 
opponents,  and  has,  moreover,  of  late  become  a 
political  question.  The  action  would  have  a  local 
and  even  a  modern  flavor.  I  should  as  soon  expect 
to  hear  of  Cinderella  striking  for  high  wages  or  of 
a  speech  on  woman's  rights  from  old  Mother  Hub- 
bard  as  to  listen  to  a  temperance  lecture  from  Rip 
Van  Winkle ;  it  would  take  all  the  poetry  and 
fairy-tale  element  completely  out  of  it.  I  would 
prefer  that  the  impression  on  the  audience  as  the 
curtain  falls  should  be  suggestive,  so  that  they 
might  terminate  it  in  a  manner  most  agreeable  to 
themselves.  Let  us  not  suppose  in  the  end  that 
Rip  and  his  wife  get  ill,  send  for  the  doctor,  take 
pills,  and  die,  but  that  they  sit  like  Darby  and  Joan 
by  the  fireside  and  eventually  go  up  the  chimney 
in  the  smoke.  If  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  "  had  been 
treated  in  a  realistic  manner  it  never  would  have 
lived  so  long." 

What  is  called  the  moral  drama  is  artificial  and 
insincere,  and  I  doubt  if  it  ever  taught  a  whole- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  455 

some  lesson.  Mr.  Cough's  mission  was  a  different 
one  from  mine.  In  his  entertainment  he  announced 
himself  as  a  temperance  lecturer.  The  audience 
were  prepared  to  hear  and  approve  of  his  views. 
In  my  case  it  would  be  a  deception  to  announce  a 
play  and  preach  a  sermon,  and  the  very  people 
who  ask  for  it  would  consider  it  an  impertinence 
if  it  had  been  gratuitously  offered. 

The  beautiful  lessons  contained  in  many  of  the 
plays  of  Shakspere  are  not  thrust  upon  the 
audience.  They  are  so  delicately  suggested  that 
the  listener  takes  the  splendid  truths  and  hugs 
them  to  his  heart.  The  great  dramatist  does  not 
stand  forth  and  dogmatically  expound  his  views  on 
acting,  but  mark  with  what  modesty  he  shows  us 
the  way  to  tread.  One  of  his  characters,  Ham- 
let, has  a  play,  and  with  kind  consideration  takes 
aside  the  actors  who  are  to  perform  it  and  tells 
them  how  he  would  have  his  play  delivered. 
These  simple  instructions,  of  not  more  than  a 
dozen  lines,  contain  the  whole  art  of  acting ;  the 
player  need  go  no  further  for  instruction ;  those 
who  entangle  themselves  in  a  labyrinth  of  argu- 
ments over  the  proper  or  improper  way  of 
rendering  plays  or  characters  can  settle  all  their 
disputes  by  this  little  speech. 

Again,  Polonius  does  not  sermonize  his  audience. 
As  his  only  son  is  leaving  home,  the  youth  kneels 
at  his  father's  feet  and  asks  a  blessing:  who 
would  not  wish  that  his  boy  should  go  through 
life  freighted  with  such  precepts?  These  are  the 
lessons  that  Shakspere  has  taught  us,  and  this 


456  THE 

must  surely  be  the  way  to  teach  them.  So  it 
would  seem  that  Shakspere,  in  giving  his  lessons 
to  the  world,  is  like  a  kind  father  who  when  his 
son  has  been  guilty  of  a  grave  offense,  instead  of 
storming  at  him  in  a  temper,  waits  until  the  wrong 
is  half  forgotten,  and  then  when  they  are  the  best  of 
friends  takes  the  little  fellow  on  his  knee  and  tells 
him  for  his  own  sake  what  he  would  have  him  do. 

Realism  and  idealism  are  important  factors  in 
the  dramatic  art.  No  one,  I  think,  will  question 
the  fact  that  imagination  has  given  us  the  highest 
dramatic  compositions,  and  that  it  enters  largely 
into  the  best  form  of  acting ;  and  there  is  a  strong 
belief  that  the  introduction  of  realism  in  plays  of  a 
highly  poetical  character  often  goes  far  to  weaken 
their  effect. 

We  are  told  by  an  authority  that  no  one  seems 
inclined  to  dispute  that  the  judgments  of  the  judi- 
cious "should  outweigh  a  whole  theater  of  others  "; 
but  then  who  are  in  this  case  the  " judicious" — 
may  it  not  be  the  many  instead  of  the  few  ? 

That  manager  is  unquestionably  the  most  useful 
who  entertains  the  greatest  number  when  he  does 
not  degrade  them,  and  certainly  there  is  no  degra- 
dation in  the  realistic  productions  in  question.  So 
the  matter  stands  just  where  it  did ;  the  audience 
must  decide  which  it  prefers,  and  the  actor  must 
consider  how  far  these  introductions  may  assist  or 
mar  his  work. 

It  was  my  good  fortune  during  the  earlier  part 
of  my  dramatic  career  to  add  the  romantic  story 
of  "Rip  Van  Winkle"  to  my  repertory,  under 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON    AS    "RIP    VAN    WINKLE." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  457 

circumstances  elsewhere  related.  I  was  attracted 
by  the  poetic  nature  of  the  legend,  and  en- 
deavored to  treat  it  in  harmony  with  that  feature. 
After  acting  it  for  many  years  I  had  various  sug- 
gestions made  to  me  for  elaborating  the  spectacular 
and  scenic  effects  of  the  play,  among  which  were 
the  introduction  of  several  fat  old  Knickerbockers 
smoking  their  long  pipes  and  quarreling  in  Dutch, 
a  large  windmill  with  the  sails  to  work,  dairy- 
maids with  real  cows,  mechanical  effects  for  the 
sudden  and  mysterious  appearance  and  disappear- 
ance of  Hendrik  Hudson's  crew,  and  in  the  last 
act  the  Continental  army  with  drums  a^nd  fifes,  a 
militia  training,  and  the  further  introduction  of 
patriotic  speeches  about  American  independence. 
So  unreal  a  theme  could  not  have  been  inter- 
woven with  all  this  realism  without  marring  the 
play.  If  I  were  a  stage-manager  and  were 
producing  a  plain,  matter-of-fact  nautical  drama, 
where  the  characters  are  mere  commonplace  every- 
day people,  I  would  exert  all  my  ingenuity  in  the 
invention  of  realistic  effects.  The  ship  should  be 
perfectly  modeled,  the  masts  round,  the  sails  can- 
vas, and  the  coils  of  rope  of  undoubted  veracity. 
On  the  village  green  I  would  place  cottages  built 
out  and  thatched  with  veritable  straw,  and  the 
garlands  of  roses  that  hung  from  the  May-pole 
should  perfume  the  auditorium,  if  Lubin's  extract 
of  new  mown  hay  could  do  the  business ;  but  I 
should  hesitate  before  I  placed  smoking  hot  joints 
on  the  banquet  tables  of  "  Macbeth."  It  does 
seem  out  of  place  that  the  audience  should  have 


458  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

their  nostrils  saluted  with  the  odor  of  baked  meat 
while  they  are  gazing  at  the  awful  ghost  of  "the 
blood-boltered  Banquo"  According  to  this  view 
of  the  subject,  realism  should  halt  before  it 
trenches  upon  or  vulgarizes  the  effect  of  a  poeti- 
cal play. 

A  curious  incident  occurs  to  me  that  is  con- 
nected with  the  play  of  "Rip  Van  Winkle";  let 
me  put  it  down  and  I  have  done. 

There  is  in  the  village  of  Catskill  a  Rip  Van 
Winkle  Club.  This  society  did  me  the  honor  to 
invite  me  to  act  the  character  in  their  town.  I 
accepted,  and  when  I  arrived  was  met  by  the 
worthy  president  and  other  members  of  the  club, 
among  whom  was  young  Nicholas  Vedder,  who 
claimed  to  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  original 
"old  Nick."  Emulating  the  spirit  of  evolution, 
the  citizens  had  turned  the  skating-rink  into  a 
theater,  and  a  very  respectable-looking  establish- 
ment it  made,  though  in  its  transition  state  the 
marks  of  rollers  did  "  cling  to  it  still."  I  was  tak- 
ing a  cup  of  tea  at  the  table  in  the  hotel,  when  I 
was  attracted  to  the  colored  waiter,  who  was  giv- 
ing a  graphic  and  detailed  account  of  this  legend 
of  the  Catskill  Mountains  to  one  of  the  boarders 
who  sat  nearly  opposite  to  me. 

"Yes,  sah,"  he  continued,  "  Rip  went  up  into  de 
mountains,  slep'  for  twenty  years,  and  when  he 
came  back  hyar  in  dis  berry  town  his  own  folks 
did  n't  know  him." 

"Why,"  said  his  listener,  "you  don't  believe  the 
story  's  true  ?  " 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  459 

"  True  ?  Ob  course  it  is  ;  why,"  pointing  at  me, 
"dat'sde  man." 

The  town  was  filled  with  farmers  and  their  wives 
who  had  come  from  far  and  near  to  see  the  open- 
ing of  the  new  theater,  and  also,  I  think  I  may  say, 
to  see  for  the  first  time  on  the  stage  the  story 
which  Washington  Irving  had  laid  almost  at  their 
very  doors. 

As  I  drove  to  the  theater  the  rain  came  down 
in  torrents,  the  thunder  rolled  and  the  lightning 
played  around  the  peaks  of  the  distant  mountains 
under  the  very  shadow  of  which  I  was  to  act  the 
play.  It  gave  me  a  very  strange  sensation.  When 
I  got  to  the  theater  I  could  scarcely  get  in,  the 
crowd  was  so  great  about  the  door  —  countrymen 
trying  to  get  into  the  ticket  office  instead  of  the 
proper  entrance,  and  anxious  and  incredulous  old 
ladies  endeavoring  to  squeeze  past  the  doorkeeper 
but  refusing  to  give  up  their  tickets.  The  rush 
over,  the  play  began.  The  audience  was  intent  on 
the  scene  as  it  progressed,  and  seemed  anxious  not 
to  lose  a  word.  During  the  scene  in  the  last  act 
where  Rip  inquires  of  the  inn-keeper,  "  Is  this  the 
village  of  Falling  Water?"  I  altered  the  text  and 
substituted  the  correct  name,  "  Is  this  the  village 
of  Catskill  ?  "  The  crowded  house  almost  held  its 
breath.  The  name  of  the  village  seemed  to  bring 
the  scene  home  to  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
that  was  looking  at  it.  From  this  time  on  the 
interest  was  at  its  full  tension.  Surely  I  had 
never  seen  an  audience  so  struck  with  the  play 
before. 


460  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

There  was  a  reception  held  at  the  club  after  the 
play,  and  the  worthy  president  in  introducing  me 
to  the  company  was  so  nervous,  that  he  announced 
me  as  "  Mr.  Washington  Irving." 

If  I  dwell  at  length  upon  so  old  a  subject  as  this 
well-worn  drama  it  is  not  only  because  the  play 
and  its  hero  were  important  to  me,  but  for  the 
reason  that  there  are  incidents  connected  with  its 
career  from  which  a  lesson  may  be  drawn  ;  and 
while  I  do  not  aspire  to  be  a  teacher  of  Art  or  set 
myself  up  as  a  Sir  Oracle,  or  a  finger-post  to  point 
out  the  road  to  dramatic  success,  I  cannot  resist 
the  desire  I  have  to  give  some  of  my  young  friends 
on  the  stage  a  few  hints  in  relation  to  the  conduct 
of  their  professional  lives  that  may  be  useful  even 
if  they  are  dry  and  uninteresting. 

The  rules  that  would  seem  to  promote  success 
upon  the  stage  are  so  shifting  and  at  times  so 
inscrutable  that  the  most  diligent  and  experienced 
actors  often  stand  amazed  at  the  disappointing  re- 
sults which  have  attended  honest  and  intelligent 
labor.  I  have  known  members  of  the  theatrical 
profession  who,  though  possessed  of  great  ability 
and  an  untiring  industry,  have  never  met  with  one 
cheering  success,  and  I  have  seen  novices  come 
upon  the  stage  knowing  nothing  of  dramatic  art 
and  possessed  of  no  talent  whatever,  startle  the 
public  and  command  its  attention  at  once,  and  all 
this  from  the  mere  exhibition  of  youth,  beauty, 
and  confidence.  This  latter  kind  of  popularity, 
however,  is  not  lasting,  nor  does  it  ever  revive 
after  it  has  once  lost  its  power,  and  here  is  just 


JOSEPH    JEFFERSON    AS     "RIP    VAN    WINKLE." 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  461 

the  point  in  question:  an  ephemeral  success  is 
worse  than  no  success  at  all,  for  all  the  feverish 
flattery  and  hollow  applause  that  may  have  at- 
tended it  in  the  beginning  cannot  atone  for  the 
disappointment  that  follows  upon  neglect.  The 
once  petted  favorite  sinks  under  the  desolation 
which  comes  from  public  indifference.  A  legiti- 
mate and  well-earned  success  is  almost  perennial, 
if  pursued  by  the  artist  to  the  end  with  the  same 
love  of  his  work  that  characterized  its  beginning. 
"  Rip  Van  Winkle"  was  not  a  sudden  success. 
It  did  not  burst  upon  the  public  like  a  torrent. 
Its  flow  was  gradual,  and  its  source  sprang  from 
the  Harz  Mountains,  an  old  German  legend, 
called  "  Carl  the  Shepherd,"  being  the  name  of  the 
original  story.  The  genius  of  Washington  Irving 
transplanted  the  tale  to  our  own  Catskills.  The 
grace  with  which  he  paints  the  scene,  and,  still 
more,  the  quaintness  of  the  story,  placed  it  far 
above  the  original.  Yates,  Hackett,  and  Burke 
had  separate  dramas  written  upon  this  scene  and 
acted  the  hero,  leaving  their  traditions  one  to  the 
other.  I  now  came  forth,  and  saying,  "Give  me 
leave,"  set  to  work,  using  some  of  the  before- 
mentioned  tradition,  mark  you.  Added  to  this, 
Dion  Boucicault  brought  his  dramatic  skill  to  bear, 
and  by  important  additions  made  a  better  play  and 
a  more  interesting  character  of  the  hero  than  had 
as  yet  been  reached.  This  adaptation,  in  my  turn, 
I  interpreted  and  enlarged  upon.  It  is  thus  evi- 
dent that  while  I  may  have  done  much  to  render 
the  character  and  play  popular,  it  has  not  been  the 


462  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

work  of  one  mind,  but  both  as  to  its  narrative 
and  its  dramatic  form  has  been  often  molded  and 
by  many  skillful  hands.  So  it  would  seem  that 
those  dramatic  successes  that  "come  like  shadows, 
so  depart,"  and  those  that  are  lasting,  have  ability 
for  their  foundation  and  industry  for  their  super- 
structure. I  speak  now  of  the  former  and  the 
present  condition  of  the  drama.  What  the  future 
may  bring  forth  it  is  difficult  to  determine.  The 
histrionic  kaleidoscope  revolves  more  rapidly  than 
of  yore,  and  the  fantastic  shapes  that  it  exhibits 
are  brilliant  and  confusing;  but  under  all  circum- 
stances I  should  be  loath  to  believe  that  any  con- 
ditions will  render  the  appearance  of  frivolous 
novices  more  potent  than  the  earnest  design  of 
legitimate  professors. 

One  word  on  dramatic  writing:  On  the  dis- 
covery of  a  mysterious  murder,  when  all  are  at  loss 
as  to  who  has  committed  the  deed,  the  first  thing 
the  detective  searches  for  is  motive.  If  the  mur- 
derer be  not  insane  a  motive  must  exist ;  and  as 
the  actions  of  our  lives,  when  we  are  in  a  state  of 
reflection  and  cool  deliberation,  spring  from  this 
cause,  so  must  the  playwright,  in  the  construction 
of  his  plot  and  the  action  of  his  characters,  give 
us  motive. 

Again,  an  audience  should  never  be  kept  in  the 
dark  as  to  the  true  state  of  all  matters  connected 
with  the  play,  particularly  in  comedy.  Let  the 
characters  be  deceived  and  entangled  in  a  perfect 
labyrinth  of  difficulties  if  you  will,  but  the  audience 
must  know  just  how  the  matter  stands,  or  they 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  463 

cannot  enjoy  the  confusion  of  the  actors.  For  ex- 
ample, in  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  when  young 
Mar  low  makes  love  to  Miss  Hardcastle  he  thinks 
that  she  is  the  barmaid,  but  the  audience  know 
perfectly  well  that  she  is  not;  hence  they  enjoy 
his  mistake.  If  they  had  not  been  let  into  the  se- 
cret the  effect  would  be  lost ;  but  an  "  equivoke  " 
scene,  wherein  both  characters  are  deceived  as  to 
each  other's  identity,  is  the  most  enjoyable  and 
requires  perhaps  more  ingenuity  in  its  construction 
than  any  other  branch  of  writing  in  comedy.  Such 
a  scene,  too,  must  be  rendered  with  great  skill  and 
the  most  perfect  seriousness;  if  a  smile  should 
steal  over  the  actor's  face,  showing  that  he  inwardly 
sees  the  humor  of  the  situation,  the  whole  effect 
will  be  lost.  The  bewilderment  of  the  characters 
must  be  supreme,  and  as  the  scene  progresses 
and  they  become  more  and  more  entangled,  their 
blank  looks  of  amazement  delight  the  audience, 
who  alone  are  in  the  secret. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

IN   LOUISIANA 

The  "Pirate  of  the  Gulf"  —  Pierre  Landry  and 
his  Wife — Under  the  Live- Oaks — Conclusion 

THE  plantation  I  purchased  in  Louisiana  was 
at  one  time  the  property  of  a  prominent 
Spaniard  named  Carline,  to  whom  it  had 
been  granted  when  the  State  was  under  the 
dominion  of  Spain.  He  had  made  his  selection 
with  considerable  judgment,  as  the  large  tract 
that  had  been  ceded  to  him  contained  an  island 
of  two  hundred  acres,  which  stood  at  an  eleva- 
tion of  about  ninety  feet  above  the  sea,  and  was 
covered  with  grand  live-oak  and  magnolia  trees. 
When  it  passed  from  Carline  it  fell  into  the  hands 
of  an  old  Scotchman  named  Randolph,  who  was, 
from  all  accounts,  as  sagacious  as  the  Spaniard. 
He  added  to  the  beauty  of  the  island  by  planting 
it  with  pecan  and  orange  trees,  which  were  in  full 
bearing  when  I  purchased  the  place. 

It   is    currently   reported    by    the    peasantry   of 
this   region   that   Captain    Lafitte,  who    was   also 

464 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  465 

celebrated  under  the  high-sounding  title  of  the 
"  Pirate  of  the  Gulf,"  often  visited  the  island. 
This  hero's  virtues  have  been  extolled  in  a  roman- 
tic novel,  several  love  songs,  and  a  bad  nautical 
drama;  and  history  has  in  some  measure  tried  to 
elevate  him  beyond  the  average  of  mankind  be- 
cause he  refused  the  overtures  of  General  Pak- 
enham  and  joined  the  forces  of  General  Jackson 
at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans.  But  the  truth  is, 
that  the  captain  had  plenty  of  money ;  the  British 
bribe  possessed  no  fascination  for  him,  as  the 
United  States  Government  had  set  a  price  upon 
his  head ;  and  there  is  consequently  a  slight 
suspicion  that  self-preservation  and  not  patriot- 
ism induced  him  to  cast  in  his  lot  with  America. 
He  was  undoubtedly  a  highly  cultivated  buca- 
neer ;  and  having  with  care  and  industry  amassed 
a  large  fortune  by  robbing  his  fellow-men,  he 
retired  from  business  in  the  prime  of  life  and 
secluded  his  virtues  under  the  shade  of  Mr. 
Randolph's  peaceful  orange  groves.  It  is  said 
that  he  became  so  stung  with  remorse  at  the 
retrospect  of  his  piratical  career  that  he  even- 
tually atoned  for  his  crimes  by  going  into  the 
slave  trade.  It  is  further  hinted  that  the  gal- 
lant captain  made  this  place  his  headquarters  in 
the  summer. 

The  cares  of  piracy  and  slave  stealing  would 
naturally,  in  time,  undermine  the  constitution  of 
a  sensitive  nature,  and  it  was  therefore  necessary 
that  during  the  heated  term  —  an  unpleasant  sea- 
son for  the  latter  business  —  he  should  require 
30 


466  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

time  for  recuperation,  and  an  opportunity  to  hide 
his  treasures.  It  is  said  that  he  generally  per- 
formed this  ceremony  in  the  moonlight  assisted 
by  his  gallant  band,  who  were  sworn  to  secrecy, 
and,  being  men  of  honor,  could  of  course  be 
depended  upon.  It  being  a  foregone  conclusion 
that  this  story  is  true,  it  was  natural  that  I  should 
have  been  warmly  congratulated  when  I  became 
the  rightful  owner  of  all  this  ill-gotten  gold  —  that 
is,  if  we  ever  find  it.  I  have  never  looked  for  it 
myself.  In  the  first  place  I  have  never  had  time, 
and  in  the  next  I  really  am  afraid  that  I  should 
not  find  it.  I  wish  the  rest  of  the  community 
were  as  skeptical  of  its  presence  as  I  am,  for 
then  they  would  stop  disfiguring  the  shore 
around  the  lake  and  digging  holes  under  every 
tree  upon  which  some  mischievous  fellow  has  cut 
a  cross.  Nothing  has  been  discovered  so  far  ex- 
cept an  old  long-bladed  knife,  of  a  size  and  shape 
quite  convenient  for  pirating,  and  a  silver  dollar; 
but  as  the  latter  was  coined  in  1829,  it  is  quite 
evident  that  Lafitte  was  buried  first,  so  it  could 
not  have  been  his  property. 

These  treasure-seekers  have  periodical  attacks 
of  this  insanity,  like  the  same  class  of  idiots  who 
ruin  the  clam  business  on  Long  Island  by  digging 
up  the  shore  in  hopes  of  discovering  the  treasures 
of  the  late  lamented  Captain  Kidd. 

The  scenery  and  villages  along  the  Bayou 
Teche  have  for  years  been  famous  for  their  ro- 
mantic beauty,  and  the  fine  islands  —  on  one  of 
which  we  live  —  are  still  a  mystery  to  the  geolo- 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  467 

gists  who  have  examined  them.  Of  course  they 
all  have  their  theories,  but  I  fancy  that  they  differ 
in  their  opinions.  One  of  these  beautiful  spots 
is  called  Salt  Island,  and  is  owned  and  occupied 
by  the  Averys,  a  charming  and  hospitable  family, 
who  have  lived  there  for  many  years,  and  who 
are  the  owners  of  the  celebrated  salt  mine  which 
the  place  contains.  It  is  a  weird  and  beautiful 
cavern.  Arch  after  arch  stretches  far  away ;  look- 
ing down  the  dark  and  gloomy  avenues  one  is 
amazed  at  the  inexhaustible  deposit,  and  when  it 
is  artificially  lighted  up  millions  of  crystals  flash 
and  sparkle  with  wondrous  splendor. 

Five  miles  from  this  charming  place  is  our  island. 
During  the  first  eight  years  of  our  southern  jour- 
neys the  beaten  track  of  commonplace  travel 
ended  at  Brashear,  which  was  then  the  terminus 
of  the  railroad.  Here  we  used  to  get  on  board  of 
a  little  stern -wheel  boat,  so  small  that,  contrasted 
with  the  leviathan  Texas  steamers  anchored  in  the 
bay,  it  looked  like  a  toy.  Our  route  lay  westward 
up  the  Bayou  Atchafalaya  to  where  it  met  the 
Bayou  Teche.  This  is  the  point  where  Gabriel 
and  Evangeline  are  separated  in  Longfellow's 
poem. 

Our  passage  up  the  Teche  was  extremely  pic- 
turesque. The  stream  is  narrow,  and  the  live-oak 
and  cypress  trees  stretch  their  branches  over  it  till 
in  places  they  fairly  meet  and  interlock.  When 
the  darkness  came  on  pine  knots  were  burned  in 
the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  as  she  steamed  up  the 
narrow  river  a  strong  light  fell  on  the  gaunt  trees 


468  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

that  suddenly  started  out  of  the  black  night  like 
weird  specters.  The  negro  deck-hands,  some  bare 
to  the  waist  and  others  in  red  and  blue  shirts, 
would  sit  in  lazy  groups  chanting  their  plantation 
songs,  keeping  perfect  time  with  the  beat  of  the 
engine.  It  was  delightful  to  light  a  pipe  and  sit 
on  the  deck,  to  look  upon  the  novel  scene  and 
listen  to  these  strange  sounds ;  to  feel  that  the 
season  had  closed,  and  to  anticipate  three  months 
of  perfect  rest — no  letters  to  write,  no  engagement 
to  keep,  no  dreadful  appointments  hanging  over 
one's  head ! 

As  I  have  been  living  here  for  the  past  eighteen 
winters  there  is  naturally  some  curiosity  among 
the  peasantry,  both  white  and  black,  as  to  the  pre- 
cise nature  of  my  vocation.  The  town  near  us 
has  had  no  theater  or  hall  of  any  kind  until  lately, 
so  that  the  only  public  amusements  with  which 
they  are  familiar  have  been  confined  to  the  circus. 

The  country  people  know  me  very  well,  and  it 
is  a  mystery  to  them  what  I  can  possibly  do  in  a 
"show,"  as  they  call  it.  I  had  been  out  duck 
shooting  and  was  being  paddled  slowly  along  the 
bayou  in  a  canoe  by  my  "man  Friday,"  a  colored 
boy  about  eighteen  years  of  age.  As  a  rider  of 
buck-jumping  ponies  he  was  a  wonder  either  with 
or  without  a  saddle,  and  the  perfect  ease  with 
which  he  handled  a  canoe  made  him  invaluable  as 
a  guide  ;  he  would  dip  the  paddle  deep  into  the 
stream  and  with  a  firm  and  steady  hand  move  the 
boat  with  great  speed,  and  yet  with  such  skill  and 
so  silently  that  he  made  no  splash  or  ripple  in  the 


PIERRE    LANDRY    AND     HIS    WIFE. 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  469 

water.  I  have  often  sat  with  my  back  to  him  in 
the  quiet  of  a  sunset  evening  and  listened  if  I 
could  catch  the  slightest  sound ;  but  no ;  though 
we  glided  along  the  water  like  an  arrow,  John's 
paddle  was  quiet  as  a  mouse. 

On  the  excursion  referred  to  the  silence  was 
broken  by  John's  voice.  "  Mr.  Joe,  will  you  be 
mad  if  I  ax  you  somefen  ?  "  "  No,  John ;  what  is 
it  ?  "  There  was  a  pause,  then  calling  up  all  his 
courage  he  broke  forth  with  a  question  which  I 
have  no  doubt  he  had  meditated  upon  and  could 
contain  no  longer.  "What  does  you  do  in  a 
show  ?  "  I  told  him  that  it  would  be  rather  diffi- 
cult for  me  to  explain  to  him  what  my  peculiar  line 
of  business  was.  "Well,"  said  John,  "does  you 
swallow  knives  ?  "  I  told  him  that  I  had  no  talent 
whatever  in  that  way.  "Well,  your  son  told  me 
that  you  swallowed  knives,  and  forks,  and  fire,  and 
de  Lord  knows  what  all,  and  I  believe  he  was  just 
foolin'  me."  I  agreed  with  him,  saying  that  he 
was  quite  capable  of  it.  "  Well,  dere  's  one  thing 
certain,"  said  John ;  "  you  don't  act  in  the  circus." 
I  asked  him  how  he  could  be  sure  of  that.  Here 
he  burst  into  an  immoderate  fit  of  laughter,  almost 
tipping  the  canoe  over  in  his  violent  mirth,  "  Oh,  no 
—  oh,  no,  sah ;  you  can't  fool  me  on  dat.  I  've  seen 
you  get  on  your  horse ;  you  ain't  no  circus  actor." 

Near  our  plantation  lived  a  famed  Acadian 
named  Pierre  Landry.  When  he  was  a  boy  he 
had  seen  Lafitte,  the  "Pirate  of  the  Gulf,"  and 
many  tales  of  this  bold  bucaneer  were  traditional 
in  his  family.  I  had  heard  much  of  this  old  man ; 


470  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  being  curious  to  see  him,  set  out  with  the 
intention  of  taking  a  photograph  of  him  and  his 
family,  and  of  getting  perhaps  some  interesting 
matter  relating  to  Lafitte.  About  three  miles  from 
the  entrance  gate  of  our  plantation  runs  the  Bayou 
Petite  Anse.  Its  low  banks  are  fringed  with  tall, 
gaunt  cypress  trees,  hung  with  tangled  vines  and 
drooping  moss.  It  would  have  had  a  mysterious 
and  even  dismal  look  but  for  the  few  quaint  little 
houses  scattered  throughout  the  woods;  some  of 
these  are  painted  with  faded  pink  wash,  others  are 
colored  yellow,  with  blue  and  green  window- 
shutters,  and  some  are  white,  giving  the  place  a 
more  cheerful  look.  The  little  salmon-colored 
store  and  post-office  is  situated  near  a  long  and 
rambling  bridge,  made  of  cypress  logs  and  earth 
embankments. 

Strung  along  this  crossing  on  a  Sunday  are  to  be 
seen  from  ten  to  a  dozen  negro  women  and  children 
fishing  in  the  bayou.  This  is  a  holiday  for  them 
and  they  are  dressed  in  their  best  attire  —  clean 
blue  cotton  jean  in  various  faded  shades,  according 
to  the  age  of  the  material  ;  some  in  deep  sun- 
bonnets,  and  others,  generally  the  older  branches 
of  the  family,  with  their  heads  done  up  in  gaudy 
colored  bandanas.  Upon  the  western  side  of  this 
bayou  stands  a  picturesque  cottage  with  a  high 
gabled  roof,  and  on  its  wide  porch,  covered  with 
rose  vines  and  honeysuckle,  sat  Pierre  Landry  and 
his  wife  and  daughter. 

The  old  man  could  not  walk,  and  had  been 
wheeled  out  in  his  chair  to  enjoy  the  lovely  spring 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  471 

morning.  He  was  a  fine  specimen  of  an  Acadian 
patriarch ;  his  complexion  was  of  a  rich  brown,  and 
his  snow-white  hair  floated  about  his  reverend 
brow.  He  had  been  for  years  the  arbitrator  in 
all  questions  of  importance  among  his  people  —  a 
grand  old  peacemaker,  whose  wisdom  and  justice 
settled  the  petty  and  important  quarrels  of  his 
more  irritable  neighbors  with  unerring  justice ;  and 
many  misunderstandings  that  would  have  lapsed 
into  ruinous  lawsuits  were  arranged  by  him  with- 
out a  murmur  from  either  plaintiffs  or  defendants,  so 
that  the  attorney  of  the  village  looked  upon  him  as 
a  mortal  foe,  and  on  one  occasion  threatened  to  sue 
him  for  damages. 

There  was  a  cheerful  aspect  about  the  place :  the 
birds  were  singing,  the  bees  were  buzzing  amid 
the  flowers,  and  the  whirl  of  a  spinning-wheel 
upon  the  porch,  turned  by  old  Landry's  daughter, 
gave  the  spot  a  homelike  look  that  told  of  love 
and  peace.  As  we  entered  the  little  garden  gate, 
Madame  rose  from  her  chair,  and  with  rustic  French 
politeness  invited  us  to  enter.  "  Entrez,  monsieur," 
she  said,  in  kindly  tones.  I  told  her  the  intention 
of  our  visit :  she  seemed  pleased,  and  said,  through 
our  overseer,  that  she  had  been  informed  of  it, 
and  was  quite  ready.  She  then  began  arranging 
her  husband,  her  daughter,  and  herself  into  what 
would  have  been,  I  am  afraid,  a  rather  stiff  family 
group.  I  told  her  there  was  no  hurry,  and  that  I 
preferred  she  should  take  her  former  position, 
and  that  I  would  wait  until  some  fitting  picture 
presented  itself. 


472  THE   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  asked  the  driver  to  tell  her  that  my  visit  was 
not  one  of  mere  idle  curiosity,  but  that  I  had  heard 
what  an  interesting  character  her  husband  was,  and 
that,  as  the  house  was  so  quaint  and  pretty,  I  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  photograph  it  and  give  the  picture 
to  some  magazine  for  illustration,  and  that  then 
they  would  become  quite  famous. 

She  laughed  at  this,  and  whispered  something 
to  her  husband,  who  looked  at  us  in  a  dazed  and 
bewildered  kind  of  way  as  if  he  did  not  quite  un- 
derstand what  was  going  on  ;  she  patted  him  cheer- 
fully on  the  back  and  seemed  quite  childlike  in 
her  joy  at  the  prospect  of  becoming  historical. 
In  chatting  about  various  matters  I  asked  if  her 
husband  were  ill.  "Oh,  no,"  said  she;  "but  old, 
very  old  — not  able  to  walk  now."  And  the  tears 
came  into  her  honest  eyes.  Her  daughter  knelt 
upon  the  steps  and  looked  up  into  her  father's 
face.  "  My  darling  husband,"  the  wife  continued  ; 
"we  have  been  married  many  years.  He  has 
been  all  his  life  so  good,  so  brave,  so  noble  —  my 
own  dear  Pierre."  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and,  half-turning  her  head  from  me, 
looked  down  upon  him  with  as  much  affection  as 
she  could  have  done  upon  her  wedding-day.  Now 
was  the  time.  "Stay  that  way  for  a  moment,"  I 
said  —  and  the  picture  was  taken. 

She  could  scarcely  believe  it  was  over,  never 
having  seen  the  operation  before,  and  wanted  to 
look  at  the  picture  at  once.  I  told  her  that  she 
must  wait,  and  that  I  would  bring  the  picture  at 
some  future  time ;  and  so  we  parted.  Just  one 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  473 

year  after  this  my  wife  and  I,  driven  by  our 
overseer,  stopped  at  the  garden  gate  in  front  of 
this  same  cottage.  How  glad  I  was  that  I  had 
taken  the  picture  and  could  give  it  into  the  hands 
of  Pierre  Landry's  widow ;  for  in  the  mean  time 
he  had  been  called  away  to  plead  his  own  cause 
in  another  world,  and  if  virtue  and  honesty  be 
weighed  in  the  balance  there,  the  chances  are 
that  he  has  been  acquitted.  The  place  looked 
much  the  same,  but  there  was  a  curious  stillness 
about  it  that  seemed  almost  sacred,  or  I  fancied 
so.  The  roses  and  honeysuckles  of  the  year  before 
had  gone,  like  him  whose  hand  had  reared  the 
vines ;  but  new  ones  were  in  their  place,  and  old 
Madame  Landry  sat  in  her  husband's  chair  upon 
the  porch.  Coming  down  to  greet  us  with  some 
flowers  in  her  hand  to  give  my  wife  —  for  the 
driver  had  told  her  we  were  coming  —  she  was 
about  to  hand  them  when  I  gave  her  the  picture. 
The  dear  old  woman  for  a  moment  seemed  bewil- 
dered, the  freshly  gathered  flowers  fell  unheeded 
at  her  feet,  and,  gently  kissing  the  likeness  of 
her  husband,  she  burst  into  tears  and  sank  upon 
her  knees ;  then  clasping  the  picture  closely  to  her 
bosom  she  cried  out,  "  O,  my  darling,  my  own, 
my  noble  Pierre !  you  have  come  back  to  me." 
My  wife  and  I  looked  into  each  other's  faces  with 
moistened  eyes,  and,  respecting  her  sacred  sorrow, 
stepped  quietly  into  the  carriage  and  drove  away. 
As  I  glanced  back  I  saw  the  dear  old  woman  had 
risen  from  the  ground,  and  was  tottering  towards 
the  gate.  With  one  hand  she  clasped  the  picture 


474  THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

to  her  heart,  waving  the*  other  almost  wildly  over- 
head in  an  ecstasy  of  grief  and  joy. 

As  we  passed  the  corner  of  the  field  the  driver 
pointed  to  a  mound  marked  by  a  simple  cross  and 
covered  with  blooming  roses. 

AND  now  I  must  end  my  life,  not  "  with  a  bare 
bodkin,"  but  with  a  harmless  goose  quill;  and  how- 
ever painful  the  suicide  may  be  to  me,  it  is  a  satis- 
faction to  know  that  with  the  same  blow  I  have  put 
an  end  to  the  sufferings  of  my  readers.  Besides, 
an  extended  sojourn  here,  either  in  a  literary  or  a 
personal  state,  may  after  all  be  of  little  moment. 
Seneca  says,  when  writing  to  his  friend  Lucilius  on 
this  matter,  "  Life  is  like  a  play  upon  the  stage ; 
it  signifies  not  how  long  it  lasts,  but  how  well  it  is 
acted.  Die  when  or  where  you  will,  think  only  on 
making  a  good  exit." 

In  Louisiana  the  live-oak  is  the  king  of  the 
forest,  and  the  magnolia  is  its  queen ;  and  there  is 
nothing  more  delightful  to  one  who  is  fond  of  the 
country  than  to  sit  under  them  on  a  clear,  calm 
spring  morning  like  this.  The  old  limbs  twine 
themselves  in  fantastic  forms,  the  rich  yellow  foli- 
age mantles  the  trees  with  a  sheen  of  gold,  and 
from  beneath  the  leaves  the  gray  moss  is  draped, 
hanging  in  graceful  festoons  and  swaying  slowly 
in  the  gentle  air.  I  am  listening  to  the  merry  chirp 
of  the  tuneful  cardinal  as  he  sparkles  like  a  ruby 
amid  the  green  boughs,  and  to  the  more  glorious 
melody  of  the  mocking-bird.  Now  in  the  distance 
comes  the  solemn  cawing  of  two  crafty  crows  ;  they 


OF  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  475 

are  far  apart ;  one  sits  on  the  high  branch  of  a  dead 
cypress,  while  his  cautious  mate  is  hidden  away  in 
some  secluded  spot :  they  jabber  to  each  other  as 
though  they  held  a  conference  of  deep  importance ; 
he  on  the  high  limb  gives  a  croak  as  though  he 
made  a  signal  to  his  distant  mate,  and  here  she 
comes  out  of  the  dense  wood  and  lights  quite  near 
him  on  the  cypress  branch  :  they  sidle  up  to  each 
other  and  lay  their  wise  old  heads  together,  now 
seeming  to  agree  upon  a  plan  of  action  :  with  one 
accord  they  flutter  from  the  limb  and  slowly  flap 
themselves  away. 

I  am  sitting  here  upon  the  fragment  of  a  broken 
wheel ;  the  wood  is  fast  decaying,  and  the  iron  cogs 
are  rusting  in  their  age.  It  is  as  old  as  I  am,  but 
will  last  much  longer.  Most  likely  it  belonged 
to  some  old  mill,  and  has  been  here  in  idleness 
through  generations  of  the  crows  ;  it  must  have 
done  good  service  in  its  day,  and  if  it  were  a  sen- 
tient wheel  perhaps  would  feel  the  comfort  in  old 
age  of  having  done  its  duty. 

Over  my  head  the  gray  arms  of  two  live-oaks 
stretch  their  limbs,  and  looking  down  into  the 
ravine  I  see  the  trees  are  arched  as  though  they 
canopied  the  aisle  of  a  cathedral ;  and  doubtless 
they  stood  here  before  the  builder  of  the  mill  was 
born.  Behind  a  fallen  tree  there  stands  another; 
and  on  the  trunk,  from  where  I  sit,  I  plainly  see 
the  initials  of  my  wife's  name,  cut  there  by  me 
on  some  romantic  birthday  many  years  ago.  We 
live  here  still,  and  it  is  legally  recorded  in  the 
archives  of  the  parish  that  this  place  belongs  to 


476  JOSEPH  JEFFERSON 

us ;  and  so  it  does,  just  as  it  did  to  the  man  that 
built  the  mill. 

And  yet  we  are  but  tenants.  Let  us  assure  our- 
selves of  this,  and  then  it  will  not  be  so  hard  to 
make  room  for  the  new  administration ;  for  shortly 
the  great  Landlord  will  give  us  notice  that  our 
lease  has  expired. 


THE    END. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


AbelMurcott,  Charles  W.  Couldockas, 
194, 197. 

Acadian  home,  an,  470,  471. 

Acting,  harmony  in,  108, 109 ;  artistic, 
109,412,413;  intense,  129,130; 
combined  with  elocution,  1 53 ;  com- 
pared with  a  picture,  157,428,429; 
a  model  of,  355;  reflections  on, 
425-463 ;  analogy  between  paint- 
ing, poetry,  music,  and,  428;  offen- 
siveness  of  careless,  429;  thorough 
preparation  in,  431 ;  a  child's,  441, 
442;  a  gift,  441,  442;  charm  of, 

445- 

Action,  dramatic.  See  Dramatic  ac- 
tion. 

Actor,  commercial  career  of  a  retired, 
59;  compared  with  musician,  157, 
385 ;  effect  of  combination  system 
on,  326-328 ;  contrasted  with  paint- 
er and  writer,  385;  relations  of 
audience  and,  385  ;  work  of,  fleet- 
ing, changeable,  and  ineffaceable, 
428;  proper  preparation  due  to 
his  audience,  428,  429 ;  should  he 
feel  a  part  ?  439, 440 ;  a  tired,  445  ; 
how  to  become  an,  451,  452; 
compared  with  temperance  lec- 
turer, 455. 

Actors,  pursuits  in  hard  times,  52 ; 
love  for  the.  theater  and  their  vo- 
cation, 78,  237;  generosity,  45, 
11 7>  343;  personal  vanity,  132; 
elastic  spirits,  188,  189 ;  draw- 
backs to  health  of,  320;  capabili- 
ties on  and  off  the  stage,  342; 
extravagance  of  some  in  London, 
362,  363;  impulsive,  430,  431. 

Adams,  Edwin,  as  Snake,  151 ;  as 
Pythias,  158;  career,  personal  ap- 
pearance, and  character,  322,  323  ; 
as  Enoch  Arden,  323  ;  likeness  to 
Charles  Burke,  323. 


Adelaide,  S.  A.,  appear  in,  329. 
Adelphi  Theater,  London,  "  Rip  Van 

Winkle  "  at,  302-310. 
"  Adrian  and  Orrilla,"  Mrs.  Drake  in, 

415  ;  play  Cyprian    Gossamer  in, 

4I5- 

Adversity,  parting  with  old  friends 
in,  194;  sweet  uses  of,  449,  450. 

Adulation,  sorry  food,  334. 

Affection,  Australian  maternal,  244; 
parental  and  filial  contrasted,  296- 
301. 

African  Sal,  success  in  London,  105. 

Age,  effect  of,  on  an  actor,  261,  262, 
265,  267,  268, 408,  409. 

Agnew,  Messrs.,  purchasers  of  Gains- 
borough's "Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire," 367 ;  their  loss,  369,  370. 

Ague,  dramatic,  131. 

"  Ajax  Defying  the  Lightning,"  6. 

Alamo,  fall  of  the,  75. 

Albatross,  the,  275,  276. 

Alessandro  Mazzaroni,  James  Wai- 
lack,  Sr.,  as,  40,  41. 

Alexander,  Mr.,  manager  of  Theater 
Royal,  Glasgow,  372 ;  modesty 
°f>  372>  tomb,  372. 

Alfred  Evelyn,  scene  between  Clara 
Douglas  and,  195. 

Allegheny  Mountains,  crossing  the, 
84-88. 

Allen,  Mrs.,  142  ;  as  May  Fielding, 
208 ;  beauty  of,  209. 

Amateur,  signs  of  an,  138,  139. 

Ambition,  ill  effects  of  too  much, 
108. 

American  sailor  and  Greek  pirate,  14, 
15. 

American  Theater,  New  Orleans, 
closed,  80. 

Amphitheater,  Philadelphia,  union  of 
drama  and  circus  at,  118;  "Cap- 
tain Kidd"  at,  121 ;  "Mazeppa" 


479 


480 


INDEX 


at,  123;  "St.  George  and  the 
Dragon  "  at,  125-127. 

Andes,  the,  292. 

Andrews,  George,  as  Sir  Oliver  Sur- 
face, 151. 

Animals,  cruelty  to,  II. 

"Annals  of  the  English  Stage,"  402, 

4°3- 

"  Antigone,"  at  Arch  Street  Theater, 
102;  at  Theater  Royal,  Dublin, 
102;  appear  in  the  chorus,  104. 

Apple-tree,  a  barren,  395,  396. 

Arch  Street  Theater,  Philadelphia, 
managed  by  W.  E.  Burton,  57, 
83,  108;  take  Charles  Burke's 
place  at,  88;  "Antigone"  at,  102- 
104;  "  A  Glance  at  New  York"  at, 
105,  1 06  ;  managed  by  Wheatley 
&  Drew,  149,  150. 

"Arrah  na  Pogue,"  success  at  Prin- 
cess's Theater,  314. 

Art,  devotion  of  French  to,  contrasted 
with  their  loyalty,  176,  177;  com- 
bination of  nature  and,  208;  an 
actor's  sweetheart,  223 ;  probable 
result  of  mingling  American  poli- 
tics with,  352;  sacred  in  Paris, 
352;  cheap  better  than  none, 
358>  359 ;  the  handmaid  of  Genius, 
432 ;  foster-mother  of,  449. 

Art  and  literature,  powers  compared 
with  drama,  259. 

Art  criticism,  22,  23. 

Art  galleries  of  Paris,  355. 

Art  gallery  and  theater  compared,  429. 

Artist,  assistant,  am  billed  as,  36. 

Artistic  work  in    acting,    109,    412, 

4I3- 

Artists,  prejudiced  at  hands  of  breth- 
ren, 423,  424. 

Asa  Trenchard,  in  character  of,  194, 
222,  223. 

Assassins  of  the  pen,  168,  344,  345. 

Assignation,  a  deadly,  258. 

Astley's  Circus,  London,  118,  124; 
a  family  party  at,  312. 

Astronomer,  a  Scotch  gardener's 
opinion  of  an,  374,  375. 

Audience,  distracting  an,  121,  122; 
an  aristocratic,  137;  danger  of  dis- 
appointing an,  161 ;  a  pleased, 
165;  insulting  an,  217,  218;  a  sym- 
pathetic, 259-261 ;  a  select,  341, 
342  ;  addressing  the,  in  acting, 
352~354>  43°;  a  delightful,  364;  a 
rare,  379,  380;  playing  to  different 
classes  of,  385 ;  relations  of  actor 
and,  385  ;  proper  preparation  by 
actor  due  to,  428,  429  ;  virtual  im- 
prisonment of,  429  ;  a  dull,  445  ; 


ocular  attention  of,  446,  447 ;  ob- 
servant critics,  447,  448;  judg- 
ment of  the,  456;  must  possess 
secret  of  the  play,  462,  463. 

Australia,  stock  companies  in,  237; 
skeleton  dance,  242-244;  scenery 
of  the  interior,  245 ;  a  strange 
meeting  in,  246 ;  bushrangers  in, 
256;  reminiscences  of,  273,  274. 

Australian  black  contrasted  with 
Charles  Kean,  266,  267. 

Australian  station,  an,  241,  242. 

Author  compared  with  actor,  428. 

Authors,  extravagance  of  some  in 
London,  362,  363. 

Authorship,  first  attempts  at,  3, 4. 

Autograph-hunter,  an,  419. 

Avery  family,  467. 

Badger,  Edward,  comedian,  67 ;  part- 
nership with,  68-74,  77- 

Ballarat,  Victoria,  appear  in,  239. 

Baltimore,  birth  of  sister  in,  9 ;  estab- 
lishment of  telegraph  line  from 
Cumberland  to,  in,  112. 

Baltimore  Museum,  become  stage- 
manager  at,  151. 

Bannister,  Jack,  296. 

Barn-storming,  54-57. 

Barrett,  Lawrence,  as  The  Ghost,  422. 

Barren,  J.  M.,  as  Sir  Harry  Bumper, 

'Si- 
Battles  :   Palo  Alto,  66 ;   Resaca  de  la 

Palma,  67 ;  Fort  Brown,  67. 
Bavaria,  contrast  of  religious  tone  of 

England  and  United  States  with 

that  of,  291. 

Bayou  Atchafalaya,  romance  of,  467. 
Bayou  Petite  Anse,  470. 
Bayou  Teche,  466-468 ; 
Beaustant,  William  Warren  as,  405. 
Bedford,  Paul,  geniality,  303,  304 ;  as 

Jack  Gong,  304;  as  Nick  Vedder, 

3°4- 

Beggar  on  horseback,  a,  285,  286. 

Beggars,  conventional,  93  ;  in  Lima, 
285,  286. 

Belfast,  success  in,  380. 

Bellman  of  Castlemaine,  the,  239-241. 

Bendigo,  Viet.,  appear  in,  239. 

Bernardo,  Herbert  Kelcey  as,  422. 

Bertha,  Sara  Stevens  as,  208. 

Bickford,  George,  15. 

Billington,  Mr.,  opinion  of  "Rip  Van 
Winkle,"  304. 

Birth,  date  of  my,  14. 

Black  arts,  one  of  the,  351. 

Blacks,  Australian,  sports  and  cere- 
monies of,  242-245  ;  maternal  af- 
fection among,  244. 


INDEX 


481 


Blake,  Mrs.,  as  Mrs.  Fielding,  208. 

Blake,  William  Rufus,  as  Malvolio, 
107;  personal  appearance,  200, 
204;  friendship  for,  20 1 ;  difference 
with,  201 ;  a  curious  figure  for 
Puck,  204. 

"  Blanche  of  Brandywine,"  produced 
by  Laura  Keene,  189-192. 

Blindness,  threatened,  388 ;  operation 
for,  388. 

Blue- gum  tree,  virtues  of,  245. 

Bob  Acres,  in  character  of,  150;  char- 
acteristics of,  399,  400 ;  evolution 
of  the  part,  400 ;  notes  on  scene  be- 
tween David  and,  446,  447. 

Bob  Brierly,  in  character  of,  260 ; 
sympathetic  audience  for,  260. 

Bob  Tyke,  223. 

Boomerang,  throwing  the,  245,  266. 

Booth,  Agnes,  230. 

Booth,  Barton,  apothegm  on,  no. 

Booth,  Edwin,  as  Hamlet,  422. 

Booth,  Junius  Brutus,  early  recollec- 
tions of,  5  ;  in  Mobile,  41 ;  char- 
acter, 41,  43-45;  versatility,  44; 
generosity,  45;  imitations  of,  87, 
420  ;  kindness  of,  129 ;  as  Sir  Giles 
Overreach,  129-131 ;  wonderful 
acting,  129,  130;  presence  of  mind 
and  good  taste,  130. 

Booth's  Theater,  appear  at,  under 
Augustin  Daly,  381 ;  pulled  down, 
381,  382. 

Borrower,  a  professional,  93-96. 

Boston  Indians,  Buck  Wallace's  opin- 
ion of,  76. 

Boston  Museum,  William  Warren's 
connection  with,  404,  405. 

Boston  Theater,  first  engagement  at, 
340;  Fechter  at,  340;  Charles 
Mathews's  dislike  of,  384. 

Bottom,  Samuel  Phelps  as,  171 ;  pro- 
pose to  play,  204,  205. 

Boucicault,  Dion,  at  Ford's  Theater, 
Richmond,  157;  manager  at  Win- 
ter Garden,  207;  valuable  advice 
from,.  209-211 ;  difference  with, 
211-213;  rewrites  "Rip  Van 
Winkle,"  302;  feud  with  Webster, 
3°3>  3°5-3°8 ;  judgment,  304 ;  tem- 
per, 304,  305 ;  author  of  "  The 
Parish  Clerk,"  321. 

"  Bounding  Brothers  of  the  Pyrenees," 
the,  139. 

Bounty,  mutiny  of  the,  232. 

Bowie,  Capt.  James,  inventor  of  the 
bowie  knife,  75;  assassination  of, 

Boxing,  take  lessons  in,  212,  213. 
Boyhood,  1 7  et  seq. 


Brashear,  467. 

Brazos  Santiago,  voyage  from  Mata- 
moras  to,  78. 

Breakfast,  a  coach-office, 84, 85 ;  sooth- 
ing influences  of  a  good,  86. 

"  Brigand,  The,"  James  Wallack,  Sr., 
in,  40,  41. 

Brogue,  Rip  with  a  "  shlight  taste  " 
of  the,  378. 

Brother  Sam,  E.  A.  Sothern  as,  198. 

Brougham,  John,  at  Palmo's  Theater, 
107;  as  O^Grady,  314;  character 
and  ability,  314-317;  author  of 
"  Pocahontas,"  315,  316;  manager 
of  the  Lyceum,  315;  as  Powhatan, 
316;  as  Pocahontas,  317;  author 
of  "The  Irish  Emigrant,"  411; 
dramatizer  of  "  Dombey  and  Son," 
436;  as  Captain  Buns  by,  437;  as 
Major  Bagstock,  437. 

Browning,  Robert,  meetings  with,  360- 
362;  character  and  talents,  360, 

361  ;  lunch  at  Lord  C 's  with, 

361,  362;  intimacy  with  Longfel- 
low, 361,  362. 

Buckstone,  J.  B.,  171;  imitation  of, 
440,  441 ;  as  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek,  441 ;  as  Cousin  Joe,  441. 

Buffalo,  19 ;  Harry  Warren,  manager 
at,  392. 

Bulfinch  Place,  Boston,  suppers  in  the 
old  kitchen  in,  390,  407 ;  William 
Warren's  home  in,  407. 

Bulwer,  Edward,  Lord  Lytton,  author 
of"  Money  "  and  "  Lady  of  Lyons," 

195- 

Bunker  Hill,  tableau  of  the  battle  of, 
190-192. 

Burke,  Charles,  my  half  brother,  8 ; 
with  company  in  Mississippi,  52, 
53 ;  engagement  at  Arch  Street 
Theater,  57;  invites  me  to  Phila- 
delphia, 83 ;  meets  me  in  Philadel- 
phia, 88;  affection,  88;  joins  the 
Bowery  Theater,  b8;  at  Palmo's 
Theater,  107;  harmony  in  acting 
with  Burton,  108,  109;  short  life 
of,  109;  reputation,  109;  contrasted 
with  Burton,  no;  character,  style, 
genius,  personal  appearance,  and 
domestic  traits,  no ;  objects  to  my 
marriage,  127;  uses  influence  in 
my  behalf,  128;  successful  come- 
dian, 222 ;  plays  early  version  of 
"  Rip  Van  Winkle,"  226,  461. 

Burlington,  la.,  27. 

Burnett,  James  G.,  joint  adapter  of 
"Blanche  of  Brandywine,"  189; 
arranges  a  tableau,  192 ;  our  friend- 
ship, 192;  character,  193;  as  Sir 


482 


INDEX 


Anthony  Absolute,  193 ;  as  Lord 
Duberly,  193  ;  manager  of  Deagle's 
Theater,  382;  plays  at  Baltimore 
Museum,  382;  in  Laura  Keene's 
stock  company,  382. 
Burns,  Robert,  good  advice  from, 

Burnt-cork  knight,  the  first,  6. 

Burton,  W.  E.,  manager  at  Arch 
Street  Theater,  57,  83  ;  married  to 
Tom  Glessing's  sister,  90;  prom- 
inence, 96, 97 ;  character,  style,  and 
genius,  100-110;  as  Captain  Cuttle, 
100,  436-438;  as  Micawber,  100; 
as  Van  Dunder,  100;  literary  tal- 
ents, 101 ;  editor  of  the  "  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,"  101 ;  fondness 
for  lawsuits,  101,  102;  humor  on 
the  witness  stand,  102 ;  success 
with  "The  Naiad  Queen,"  102; 
produces  "  Antigone "  at  Arch 
Street  Theater,  102-104;  apolo- 
gizes for  Sophocles 's  non-appear- 
ance before  the  curtain,  102,  103; 
loss  on  "Antigone,"  104;  domes- 
tic happiness,  104,  105 ;  produces 
"  A  Glance  at  New  York  "  at  Arch 
Street  Theater,  105,  106;  success, 
106;  purchases  Palmo's  Theater, 
106;  successfully  opposes  Mitch- 
ell of  the  Olympic  Theater,  107; 
as  Sir  Toby  Belch,  107;  death, 
108;  harmony  inacting  with  Burke, 
108,  109;  contrasted  with  Burke, 
no;  personal  appearance,  no; 
Chanfrau's  imitations  of,  420; 
reasons  for  failure  in  Captain  Cut- 
tle, 437, 438 ;  ultimate  success,  437, 
438. 

Burton's  Theater,  "  Dombey  and 
Son  "  at,  436-438. 

Bushrangers,  origin  of,  256 ;  Morgan, 
257,  258. 

Butcher's  lucky  chops,  a,  369. 

Butler,  the  melodramatic  villain  of  so- 
ciety, 363,  364;  superiority  of 
handmaid  over,  364. 

By-play,  compared  to  distance  in  pic- 
ture, 446 ;  natural,  446 ;  proper 
and  improper  use  of,  446-448. 

Byron,  Henry  J. ,  dinner  with  Planche, 
Mathews,  and,  386,  387. 

Byron,  Lord,  comment  on  a  battle, 
163 ;  sentimentality  of,  256. 

C ,  John,  character  and  genius  of, 

394,  395;  marvelous  experiences, 
395  ;  diagnoses  the  case  of  an  ap- 
ple-tree, 395,  396 ;  scientific  dis- 
courses curtailed,  396. 


C ,  Lord,  lunch  with,  361,  362; 

simplicity  of  life,  362. 

Cabin  windows,  through  the,  449. 

Cairo,  111.,  47. 

Calanthe,  Edwin  Forrest's  parting 
with,  158-160. 

Caleb  Plununer,  in  character  of,  208- 
210. 

California,  start  for,  229. 

Calker,  an  imperturbable,  278,  286, 
287. 

Callao,from  Melbourne  to,  275,276; 
arrival  at,  276;  unfortunate  situa- 
tion and  history,  279,  280 ;  riot  in, 
280,  281 ;  incident  in  life  of  French 
consul  at,  280, 281 ;  Spanish  theater 
in,  288-290 ;  religious  tableau  con- 
trasted with  Passion  Play  at  Ober- 
Ammergau,  290,  291 ;  leave  for 
Panama,  293. 

Calvary,  the  scene  on,  289-291. 

Camp,  a  floating,  62. 

Candle-boxes,  a    new    use    for,   14^, 

— j' 

146. 

Candor,  Mrs.,  Kate  Horn  as,  151. 
Captain  Absolute,  400,  401. 
Captain  Buns  by,  John  Brougham  as, 

Captain  Ctittle,  W.  E.  Burton  as,  100, 

436-438- 

"  Captain  Kidd,"  engagement  in,  at 
Amphitheater,  Philadelphia,  121, 

122. 

Cardinal  Wolsey,  265. 

Careless,  A.  H.  Davenport  as,  151. 

"  Carl  the  Shepherd,"  origin  of  "  Rip 
Van  Winkle,"  461. 

Carpenter,  the  opposite  sex  to  a,  387. 

Cartlidge,  John,  leading  man  at  Ast- 
ley's  Circus,  123 ;  cast  for  The 
Khan  at  the  Amphitheater,  Phila- 
delphia, 123,  124;  grief  at  deposi- 
tion, 123,  124. 

Carusi's  Hall,  Washington,  first  per- 
formance of  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  " 
at,  227-229. 

Castlemaine,  the  bellman  of,  239-241. 

"  Castle  Spectre,"  success  of,   106. 

Cathedral  and  theater  by  daylight 
compared,  284. 

Catskill,  N.  Y.,  Rip  Van  Winkle 
Club  in,  458 ;  play  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle"  in,  458,  459;  waiter 
identifies  me  as  the  original  Rip, 
458,  459;  reception  at  the  club, 
460. 

Cemetery,  my  early  playground  in 
New  York,  15,  16. 

Chambers  Street  Theater,  New  York, 
managed  by  W.  E.  Burton,  108. 


INDEX 


483 


Chanfrau,  F.  S.,  successful  comedian, 
222,  420;  personality,  420;  imi- 
tations of  Booth,  420 ;  as  Mose,  420. 

Chapman  company,  floating  theater 
of,  62. 

"Charcoal  Sketches,"  n. 

Charity,  a  doubtful,  37. 

Charles  Surface,  J.  E.  Murdoch  as, 
151-154;  criticism  of  the  character, 
153  ;  Charles  Mathews  as,  153. 

Charleston,  season  at,  146-149. 

Charleston  Hotel,  description  of,  136. 

Chatham  Theater,  New  York,  engage- 
ment at,  128,  129. 

Chemical  Bank,  New  York,  in  panic 
of  1857,  188. 

Chestnut  StreetTheater,  Philadelphia, 
under  management  of  John  Gil- 
bert, 149 ;  appearance  at,  149,150. 

Chicago,  rise  of,  17;  first  visit  to, 
21  ;  theater  at,  22;  married  in, 
323 ;  appear  in,  324 ;  connection  of 
John  B.  Rice  with,  392,  393. 

Chief  Osceola,  a  valiant,  59. 

Childhood,  my,  1-16. 

Children,dramatic instinct  in,  425,426. 

Child's  acting,  a,  441,  442. 

Chili  and  Peru,  war  between,  293. 

Chinese  orchestra,  a,  268,  269 ;  value 
in  its  place,  359. 

Chinese  theater,  visit  to  a,  268-271. 

Chinese  tragedian,  a,  270,  271. 

Chorus,  function  of  the  Greek,  354. 

Choruses,  requirement  of  space  for, 

383- 
Christ,  in  religious  tableau  at  Callao, 

289,  290. 

Christmas  tree,  a  theatrical,  402. 
Chromos,    place   in    education,    358, 

359- 

Church,  the,  use  of  drama  by,  291. 
Gibber,   Colley,  complains  of  degen- 
eracy of  the  stage,  106. 
Cincinnati,     O.,      Alexander     Drake 

manager  in,  62. 
Cincinnati  Dramatic  Festival,  invited 

to  produce  "  The  Rivals  "  at,  382 ; 

mishaps  at,  382,  383. 
Circus,  union  of  drama  with,  118. 
Clairvoyant  dog,  a,  252,  253. 
Clara  Douglas,  scene  between  Alfred 

Evelyn  and,  195. 
"  Clari,  the  Maid  of  Milan,"  27. 
Clarke,  J.  S.,  420. 
Clarksville,  Tenn.,  a  night  at,  46. 
Classics,  mastering  the,  150. 
Claude  Melnotte,  absurd  speech   for, 

195  ;  Fechter  as,  340. 
Clergyman,  life  of  an  English,  365, 

366. 


Coach-office  breakfast,  a,  84,  85. 

Coffin,  a  mystery  in  a,  376,  377. 

Coghlan,  Rose,  as  The  Player  Queen, 
422. 

Colman,  George,  author  of  "  The 
Heir  at  Law,"  184. 

Colonel  Sellers,  John  T.  Raymond  as, 
421. 

Combination,  with  Windham,  324; 
the  system  discussed,  324-328. 

Comedian,  hiring  by  weight,  120; 
tragedian's  advantage  over,  220 ; 
must  preserve  gravity,  463. 

Comedians,  two  great,  108,  109; 
dangerous  innovations  by  modern, 
154;  excellence  and  fault  of  French, 
430 ;  legitimate,  420. 

Comedy,  physical,  120;  James  E. 
Murdoch's  style  in  light,  153,  154; 
compared  with  tragedy,  220,  429 ; 
fine  details  of,  429;  work  of  the 
French  Stage  in,  429,  430;  the 
life  of,  432 ;  important  for  audience 
to  possess  secret  of,  462,  463. 

Competition  and  opposition  con- 
trasted, 101. 

Compton,  Henry,  171. 

Conservatism,  325. 

Constable,  John,  nature  of  his  work, 

Conventionality,  violation  of,  226, 423, 
424. 

Cool  reception,  a,  297-301. 

Cooper,  James  Fenimore,  Buck  Wal- 
lace's opinion  of  his  novels,  76; 
sentimentality  of,  257. 

Cordelia,  453. 

Corot,  Jean  B.  C.,  a  rival  to,  350; 
nature  of  his  work,  357;  tardy  ad- 
mittance to  the  Salon,  423,  424. 

Corrobories,  Australian,  242. 

Costume,  in  Lima,  283,  292 ;  increased 
magnificence  of,  397. 

Couldock,  Charles  W.,  with  Laura 
Keene's  company,  194;  as  Abel 
Murcott,  194,  197;  anecdote  of 
Macready,  442-444. 

Country  management,  trials  and  fas- 
cinations of,  114,  115,  131. 

Courage  and  self-confidence  con- 
trasted, 450. 

Cousin  Joe,  J.  B.  Buckstone  as,  441. 

Crabtree,  Thomas  Placide  as,  151. 

"  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,  The,"  208. 

"Critic,  The;  or,  A  Tragedy  Re- 
hearsed," illustrations  from,  435, 
436,  451. 

Criticism,  remarkable,  87;  in  the 
dressing-room,  97 ;  newspaper, 
importance  to  an  actor,  115;  one 


484 


INDEX 


way  of  writing,  167, 168;  effect  of 
selfishness  on,  194;  of  acting  at 
Theatre  Francais,  352-355  ;  dog- 
matism in,  358,  359  ;  just  and  un- 
just, 422-424;  of  tragedy,  429; 
conditions  for,  of  French  comedy, 
429,  430. 

Crocker,  John,  goes  to  Wilmington 
by  schooner,  142 ;  as  Romeo,  145, 
146. 

Crockett,  Davy,  75. 

Crucifixion,  tableau  of  the,  289-291. 

Culinary  odors,  incongruity  of  ghosts 
and,  457,  458. 

Cumberland,  Md.,  terminus  of  stage- 
road  across  the  Alleghanies,  88; 
opening  of  telegraph  line  from 
Baltimore  to,  in,  112;  a  good 
house  in,  113;  hard  work  in,  114, 

"5- 

Cumberland  River,  down  the,  46. 

Cushman,  Charlotte,  compared  with 
Mrs.  James  W.  Wallack,  Jr.,  80 ; 
personal  appearance,  career,  and 
kindness,  413,  414;  compared 
with  Mrs.  Warner,  414 ;  as  Lady 
Macbeth,  414;  as  Queen  Catherine, 
414;  as  Meg  Merrilies,  414. 

Cyprian  Gossamer,  in  character  of, 
415. 

Daly,  Augusrin,  manager  of  Booth's 
Theater,  381. 

"  Damon  and  Pythias,"  at  Ford's 
Theater,  Richmond,  158. 

Dance,  Australian  skeleton,  242-244. 

Dangle,  Mr.,  435,  436. 

Daubigny,  Charles  F.,  nature  of  his 
work,  357. 

Davenport,  A.  H.,  as  Careless,  151 ; 
as  The  Stranger,  208. 

David,  399;  notes  on  scene  between 
Bob  Acres  and,  446,  447. 

Dawson,  I.  M.,  as  Sir  Benjamin 
Backbite,  151. 

Daylesford,  Australia,  visit  a  Chinese 
theater  in,  268-271. 

Deagle's  Theater,  St.  Louis,  appear  at, 
382 ;  under  management  of  James 
Burnett,  382. 

Dean,  Julia,  at  the  Mobile  Theater, 
146-148;  versatility,  146;  a  step 
to  fame,  147,  148;  as  Lady  Priory, 
147,  148;  appearance  in  Charles- 
ton, 148,  149;  brings  success  to 
Ellsler  and  myself,  148,  149. 

Dean  &  McKenney,  managers  of 
company  in  Buffalo,  19,  20. 

Desertion,  trial  on  a  charge  of  con- 
templated, 97-100. 


Detroit,  play  in,  324;  form  combina- 
tion with  Windham  in,  324. 

"  Devil  and  Little  Mike,  The,"  19. 

Devlin,  Mary,  as  Maria,  151. 

Dialogue,  effect  of  action  compared 
with,  214,215;  decline  in  public 
favor,  396;  supplemented  by  action, 
435.  436. 

Diaz,  N.  V.,  nature  of  his  work,  357. 

Dickens,  Charles,  Burton's  portrayal 
of  his  characters,  loo  ;  author  of 
"The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth," 
208. 

Dieppe,  172. 

Discipline  of  a  theater,  198-200. 

Distance  in  picture  compared  to  by- 
play in  acting,  446. 

Doctor  Ollapod,  his  harmless  prescrip- 
tion, 97 ;  in  character  of,  150. 

Doctor  Pangloss,  in  character  of,  150, 
184. 

Dog,  an  intelligent,  246-253,  255 ;  ab- 
sence of,  in  "  Rip  Van  Winkle," 

453- 

Dogberry,  wisdom  of,  116,  359. 
"  Dombey    and    Son,"    at    Burton's 

Theater,  436-438 ;    reconstruction 

of,  437- 

Don,  Sir  William,  first  meeting  with, 
I33-I36;  engagement  of,  135;  in 
"Used  Up"  and  "The  Rough 
Diamond,"  136;  stage  fright,  137, 
138;  engagement  a  financial  suc- 
cess, 138;  character  of  his  acting, 
138,139;  unappreciated  at  Wil- 
mington, 139;  animal  spirits  of, 
139 ;  in  "  The  Bounding  Brothers 
of  the  Pyrenees,"  139;  in  "The 
Sprite  of  the  Silver  Shower," 
139  ;  letters  from,  140,  141 ;  criti- 
cized in  Boston,  140;  in  Ludlow 
Street  jail,  140,  141. 

Don  Ccesar  de  Bazan,  James  Wallack, 
Sr.,  as,  41 ;  Fechter  as,  340. 

Doran,  John,  "Annals  of  the  English 
Stage,"  402,  403. 

"  Dot,"  at  Winter  Garden,  208,  209. 

Dot,  Agnes  Robertson  as,  208. 

Drake,  Alexander,  manager  in  Louis- 
ville and  Cincinnati,  62. 

Drake,  Mrs.  A.,  personal  character- 
istics and  ability,  415,  416,  418; 
in  "Adrian  and  Orrilla,"  415  ;  let- 
ters relating  to,  415-418;  as  Widow 
Cheerly,  416  ;  as  Alary,  416 ;  Mrs. 
Trollope's  opinion  of,  416;  Duke 
of  Saxe-Weimar's  opinion  of,  &J.6; 
letter  from  John  Howard  P%ne 
to,  417,  418;  ludicrous  incident 
in  Louisville,  418-420. 


INDEX 


485 


Drama,  a  rustic  patron  of  the,  55; 
union  of  circus  with,  118;  power 
of  the,  259-261 ;  used  by  early 
Church,  291 ;  character  of  moral, 
454>  455  >  what  will  be  the  future 
of  the  ?  462. 

Dramatic  action,  definition  of,  185- 
187;  distinguished  from  panto- 
mime, 185-187;  effect  of,  in  com- 
edy, 185, 186;  in  "  Macbeth,"  186, 
187;  preferable  to  words,  185-187; 
compared  with  dialogue,  214,  215. 

Dramatic  ague,  131. 

Dramatic  author,  duties  as  to  rehear- 
sal, 433. 

Dramatic  company,  likened  to  a  ma- 
chine, 155,  156;  to  a  piece  of 
mosaic,  156. 

Dramatic  effects,  way  to  attain  the 
best,  108,  109. 

Dramatic  instinct,  425-427. 

Dramatic  picture,  stepping  out  of  the, 

Dramatic  scene  spoiled,  a,  297-301. 

Dramatic  success,  hints  on,  460-462  ; 
ephemeral  and  legitimate  con- 
trasted, 460,  461;  foundation  and 
superstructure  of,  462. 

Dramatic  writing,  importance  of  mo- 
tive in,  462. 

Drew,  John,  as  The  Emigrant,  411, 
412;  plays  in  Richmond,  Va., 
412;  as  Handy  Andy,  412;  as 
CfFlanaghan,  412;  ability,  412, 
413 ;  as  Sir  Lucius  &  Trigger -,41 3  ; 
compared  with  Tyrone  Power, 
413;  versatility,  413. 

Drew,  Mrs.  John,  412  ;  as^/rj.  Mala- 
prop,  400,  401 ;  success  of,  400, 
401  ;  as  Lydia  Languish,  413. 

Drop  curtain,  a  wonderful,  22. 

Drumming  in  Vicksburg,  52. 

Drunkard,  a  reformed,  248-255. 

Drury  Lane  Theater,  London,  Mac- 
ready's  Shaksperean  revivals  at, 
154;  "The  Gladiator"  at,  165, 
166;  mishaps  in  performance  of 
"  Macbeth,"  318,  319. 

Dublin,  play  at  Gaiety  Theater,  377, 
378  ;  poor  success,  377,  378,  380. 

Dubuque,  la.,  good  season  at,  27. 

Duchess,  The,  198,  204. 

Duchess  of  Devonshire,  Gainsbor- 
ough's portrait  of,  367,  369  ;  a 
good  canvasser,  369 ;  kissing  the 
butcher,  369 ;  theft  of  the  portrait, 

369,  370- 
Duck,  Mrs.,  420. 
Duck-shooting    on   the    Cumberland 

River,  46. 


Duke  of  Gloucester,  James  W.  Wai- 
lack,  Jr.,  as,  79-81. 

Duncan,  186. 

Dunedin,  N.  Z.,  horrors  of  the  coast, 
271. 

Dusty  Bob,  success  in  London,  105. 

"  Dutch  Governor,  The,"  W.  E. 
Burton  in,  100. 

Dying  Gladiator,  The,  6. 

Dyspepsia,  treatment  for,  212  ;  a  cure 
for,  309,310. 

Earliest  appearances,  my,  3,  5-8. 

Eavesdroppers,  97,  98. 

Economy,  practising,  141  ;  a  passion 
in  Paris,  175. 

Editor,  an  old-time,  328-331. 

Education,placeofchromosin,358,359. 

Edwards,  Harry,  as  The  Priest,  422. 

Ellis,  Mr.,  as  Rowley,  151. 

Elliston,  Robert  W.,  296. 

Ellsler,  John,  partnership  with,  131- 
149. 

Elocution,  combined  with  fine  act- 
ing, 153  ;  study  of,  448. 

Emigrant,  The,  John  Drew  as,  411, 
412. 

Emulation  and  imitation   contrasted, 

!52»    'S3- 

England,  America's  first  dramatic 
challenge  to,  165;  sail  for,  171; 
contrasted  with  France,  172  ;  reli- 
gious tone  of  Bavaria  contrasted 
with  that  of,  291 ;  reception  of 
American  actors  in,  344,  345. 

English  drama,  love  scenes  in,  195. 

English  people,  loyalty  of,  261. 

Enoch  Arden,  Edwin  Adams  as,  323. 

Enthusiasm,  professional,  308,  309; 
influence  of,  as  compared  with 
money,  433. 

Equestrian  drama,  122. 

Equivoke  scene,  enjoyability  of  an,463. 

Erie,  Lake,  20. 

Erie  Canal,  traveling  on  the,  18. 

Error,  a  popular  dramatic,  184. 

Ethics  of  the  stage,  199-203. 

Eucalyptus,  virtues  of,  245. 

Europe,  first  visit  to,  171-182. 

Evarigeline  and  Gabriel,  parting  of, 
467. 

Execution,  enlarging  the,  384,  385. 

Exit,  importance  of  making  a  good, 

474- 

Extravagance,  sad  results  of,  334-336. 
Eye,  growing  preference  for  appeals 

to  the,  396,  397. 

Fair  play,  344. 

Fairyland,  a  dramatic,  177-182. 


486 


INDEX 


Fairy  Star,  The,  157. 
Falling  Water,  identifying  with  Cats- 
kill,  459. 

Fame,  277 ;  on  the  road  to,  225. 
Family  reunion,  a,  311,  312. 
Fandango,  a,  287,  288. 
Farmers  as  patrons  of  the  drama,  55~ 

Farren,  William,  155. 

Fechter,  Charles,  meeting  with,  340; 
plays  at  Boston  Theater,  340 ;  as 
Clatide  Melnotte,  340 ;  as  Don  Ca- 
sar  de  Bazan,  340 ;  friendship  with 
William  Warren,  340,  341 ;  plays 
to  a  select  audience,  341 ;  personal 
qualities  and  talents,  341-343  ;  im- 
itation of  Lemaitre  as  Belphegor, 
341 ;  resemblance  to  Garrick,  342 ; 
failures  as  manager,  342;  generosity 
of,  342, 343 ;  retirement  from  Globe 
Theater,  342,  343 ;  benefit,  and 
disposition  of  its  funds,  343 ;  cup 
presented  to,  its  fate  and  rescue, 
343,  344;  in  the  Bulfinch  Place 
kitchen,  407. 

Feeling  a  part,  439,  440. 

Fielding,  Mrs.,  Mrs.  Blake  as,  208. 

Fields,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  T.,  at  a 
memorable  feast,  407,  408. 

Fifth    Avenue   Theater,   New    York, 

383- 

Fight,  a  Paris,  174,  175. 
First  Actor,  Joseph  Wheelock  as,  422. 
First  Gravedigger,  in  character  of,  422. 
First  love,  my,  73. 

First  night's  audience,  nature  of,  165. 
Fitzgerald,  Percy,  author  of  "Romance 

of  the  English  Stage,"  450 ;  story 

of  Edmund  Kean,  450. 
Flatboat,  down  the  Cumberland  River 

on  3,46. 

Flattery,  effect  of,  350. 
Fletcher,  John,  6. 
Florence,  W.  J.,  222,  420;  as  Second 

Gravedigger,  422. 
Florence  Dombey,  438. 
Florida,  murder  of  actors  by  Indians 

in,  60. 

Fly,  the  spider  and  the,  351. 
Flying  artillery  in  Mexican  War,  66. 
Fool,  The,  Placide  as,  107. 
Foote,  Sam,  character  of  his  work,  221. 
Forbes,  William  C.,  company  attacked 

by  Indians  in  Florida,  60. 
Ford,  John  T.,  157. 
Ford's   Theater,    Richmond,  become 

manager   at,    157;    "The   Sea   of 

Ice  "  at,  157 ;  "  The  Naiad  Queen  " 

at,  157;    "Damon  and  Pythias" 

at,  158. 


Forrest,  Edwin,  imitations  of,  87, 420 ; 
at  Ford's  Theater,  Richmond,  157- 
160;  personal  appearance,  acting, 
and  character,  157-170;  as  Jack 
Cade,  157;  as  Virginiits,  157;  as 
Metamora,  160;  laughable  mishap 
at  rehearsal,  158-160;  series  of 
mishaps  in  Metamora,  160-165 ; 
my  ultimatum  to,  161 ;  career  in 
London,  165-167;  appearance  in 
"The  Gladiator,"  165  ;  second  visit 
to  England,  166;  jealousy  of  Mac- 
ready,  1 66,  167;  as  Cthello,  167; 
as  King  Lear,  167;  as  Hamlet, 
167;  attempted  persecution  of,  167, 
168;  violent  temper,  168;  gener- 
osity, 1 68;  decline,  168-170;  quar- 
rel with  John  B.  Rice,  394. 

Forrest  and  Macready  riots,  344. 

Forrest  Home,  the,  168. 

Forster,  John,  English  dramatic  critic, 
1 66. 

Fort  Brown,  bombardment  of,  67. 

Fortune,  guarding  a,  113,  114. 

Foster,  Charles,  as  Mazeppa,  123;  as 
St.  George,  125,  126. 

Foster,  Joseph,  stage-manager  at  Phila- 
delphia Amphitheater,  118;  career 
and  abilities,  118,  119,  122,  123; 
gives  me  an  engagement,  119,  120. 

Foster-mother,  my,  8-10. 

Fox,  Charles  James,  an  eager  canvas- 
ser for,  369. 

"  Fra  Diavolo,"  294. 

France,  first  visit  to,  172;  contrasted 
with  England,  172;  spend  summer 
in,  345  ;  contrasted  with  United 
States,  352. 

Francisco,  Frank  Mordaunt  as,  422. 

Frank  Oatland,  223. 

French  and  Spanish  women  con- 
trasted, 283. 

French  comedians,  glaring   fault   in, 

43°- 

French  comedy,  179,  180,  429,  430; 
conditions  for  criticism  of,  429, 

43°- 

French  consul  at  Callao,  incident  in 
life  of,  280,  281. 

French  drama,  love  scenes  in,  195. 

French  loyalty  and  art  contrasted,  176, 
177. 

French  teacher,  our,  346,  347. 

French  thrift,  37,  38. 

Frith,  W.  P.,  invitation  from,  367. 

Funeral,  a  midnight,  284. 

Fungi  mortem,  the  deadly  apple-tree 
disease,  396. 

Furnished  houses,  drawbacks  in  hir- 
ing* 350-352- 


INDEX 


487 


Gabriel  and  Evangeline,   parting   of, 

467- 

Gaiety  Theater,  Dublin,  play  with 
poor  success  at,  377,  378,  380. 

Gainsborough,  Thomas,  portrait  of 
Duchess  of  Devonshire,  367,  369, 
370;  "Going  to  the  Spring," 368; 
portrait  of  Garrick,  368 ;  other 
paintings,  368. 

Galena,  111.,  24;  perilous  journey  to 
Dubuque  from,  25. 

Gallatin  to  Lebanon,  walking  from,  45. 

Galveston,  Tex.,  engagement  in,  57; 
feeling  about  Mexican  War  in,  65. 

Gambling  in  Lima,  293. 

"  Gamester,  The,"  in  Charles  Kean's 
repertory,  264 ;  criticized,  264,  265. 

"  Gamin  de  Paris,  Le,"  in  a  Chinese 
theater,  269. 

Gardener,  an  old  Scotch,  373-375. 

Garrick,  David,  contemporary  of 
Foote,  221  ;  resemblance  of  Fech- 
ter  to,  342 ;  portrait  at  the  Garrick 
Club,  362  ;  portrait  by  Gainsbor- 
ough, 368  ;  criticized  by  Quin, 

423- 
Garrick  Club,  London,  pictures  at, 

362. 
Generosity  compared  with  caution, 

Genius,  432,  450,  451  ;  Art  the  hand- 
maid of,  432 ;  compared  with  talent, 
432  ;  source  of,  451. 

"Gentleman's  Magazine,  The," 
edited  by  W.  E.  Burton,  101 ; 
contributed  to  by  Poe,  101. 

Germon,   Jane,    as    Lady  Sneer  well, 

IS1- 

Gesticulation,  study  of,  448. 

Ghost,  The,  Lawrence  Barrett  as,  422. 

Ghosts,  incongruity  of  culinary  odors 

and,  457,  458. 
Gilbert,  John,  manager  of  Chestnut 

Street  Theater,  149  ;  criticism  on 

my  changes  in  "  The  Rivals,"  402 ; 

at  William  Warren's  grave,  409; 

as  Polonius,  422. 

"  Gilded  Age,  The,"  John   T.   Ray- 
mond in,  421. 
"  Gladiator,  The,"  Edwin  Forrest  in, 

165. 
"  Glance  at  New  York,  A,"  at  Arch 

Street  Theater,  105,  106. 
Glasgow,   appear   at  Theater    Royal, 

372- 

Glavis,  46, 
Glen    Cove,    W.  E.    Burton    builds 

country  house  at,  108. 
Glessing,  Tom,  scenic  artist  at  Arch 

Street  Theater,  88-93  >  our  friend- 


ship, 88-90,  332 ;  adventure  with 
an  Indian,  91,  92 ;  rehearsing  a 
speech,  91-93 ;  re-meeting  with, 
331  ;  his  roses,  331 ;  ingenuity, 
mechanical  and  argumental,  331, 
332. 

Globe  Theater,  Boston,  Fechter's  re- 
tirement from,  342,  343. 

"Going  to  the  Spring,"  picture  by 
Gainsborough,  368. 

Goldfinch,  in  character  of,  224. 

Goldsmith,  Oliver,  works  of,  some- 
times overshadowed  by  inferior 
plays,  106;  Robertson's  estimate 
of,  318. 

Golightly,  Mr.,  criticism  of  the  char- 
acter. 153. 

"  Good  Old  Days  of  Adam  and  Eve, 
The,"  87. 

Goose,  Mrs.,  420. 

Gough,  John  B.,  his  mission  con- 
trasted with  mine,  455. 

Grand  Gulf,    Miss.,    experiences   in, 

52- 

Grand  Opera,  Paris,  176. 
Grand  operas,  requirement  of  space 

for,  383. 
Grand  Spanish  Saloon,    Matamoras, 

in  refreshment  business   in,   68; 

murder  in,  76,  77. 
Greek  pirate  and  American  sailor,  14, 

!5- 

Greek  tragedy,  W.  E.  Burton's  pre- 
dilection for,  102,  104. 

Greenroom,  early  recollections  of  the, 
4,  5  ;  a  perfect  gem,  23. 

Gregory,  Dr.  John,  373. 

Gregory  mansion,  373-375?  celeb- 
rities entertained  in,  374. 

Gregory,  Miss,  373;  favorite  parrot, 

377- 

Gretchen,  454. 

Guide,  a  Paris,  176-179,  181,  182; 
a  misleading,  360,  361 ;  an  invalu- 
able, 468,  469. 

Guildenstern,  Lawrence  Hanley  as, 
422. 

Gunn,  John,  377. 

Gunn,  Michael,  377;  suggests  mak- 
ing Rip  Van  Winkle  an  Irishman, 

378. 
Guying,  215-220. 

Hackett,  James  H.,  in  New  Orleans, 
48;  defects  in  his  acting,  138;  a 
successful  comedian,  222;  plays 
early  version  of  "Rip  Van  Win- 
kle," 226,  461. 

Hamlet,  445  ;  Edwin  Forrest  as,  167; 
an  Australian  manager's  opinion 


488 


INDEX 


of,  236 ;  adapted  for  large  theaters, 
383 ;  Edwin  Booth  as,  422 ;  sim- 
plicity of  instructions  to  the  Play- 
ers, 455. 

"Hamlet,"  a  finer  play  than,  316; 
Lester  Wallack  testimonial,  422. 

Hancock,  Gen.  W.  S.,  dine  with,  329. 

Handy  Andy,  John  Drew  as,  412. 

Hanford,  Charles,  as  Rosencrantz, 
422. 

Hanley,  Lawrence,  as  Guildensterny 
422. 

Hardcastle,  Miss,  463. 

Harmony,  in  acting,  108,  109;  im- 
portance in  works  of  art,  156. 

Hartz  Mountains,  source  of  legend  of 
"Rip  Van  Winkle, "461. 

Havana   cigars    made    in  Vicksburg, 

52- 

Haymarket  Theater,  London,  J.  E. 
Murdoch  at,  153,  154;  Tyrone 
Power  at,  221. 

Haymarket  Theater,  Melbourne,  239 ; 
appear  at,  259. 

Heart  and  head  in  acting,  439. 

"Heir  at  Law,  The,"  at  Chestnut 
Street  Theater,  150;  at  Laura 
Keene's  Theater,  184. 

"Henry  IV.,"  221. 

Hercules  and  the  Lion,  6. 

Hidden  treasure,  466. 

Highland  castle,  a,  370. 

High  life  in    the  country,  370,  371. 

Hill,  George  H.,  222. 

Hill,  Barton,  as  Lord  Love II,  130. 

Hissing,  decline  of,  49,  50;  rare  in 
America,  218. 

Hobart  Town,  Tasmania,  "The  Ticket- 
of-Leave  Man "  in,  259-261 ;  a 
sympathetic  audience,  259-261 ; 
triumphant  success  in,  260. 

Hogarth,  William,  artificiality  of  char- 
acters, 398. 

Holcroft,  Thomas,  author  of  "The 
Road  to  Ruin,"  224. 

Holland,  George,  336 ;  friendship 
with,  337-340 ;  character  and 
practical  jokes,  337,  338;  death 
and  funeral  of,  333-340. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  at  a  memo- 
rable feast,  407,  408. 

Holt,  Clarence,  manager  of  Dunedin 
Theater,  271. 

"  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  under  diffi- 
culties, 27. 

Hope,  35,  336. 

Horatio,  John  A.  Lane  as,  422. 

Horn,  Kate,  as  Mrs.  Candor,  151. 

Horsemanship,  a  ludicrous  exhibition 
of  poor,  125-127. 


Hotels,  playing  in,  54, 427. 

Houston,  Tex., playing  in,  57;  "  Rich- 
ard III."  in,  62-65. 

Howard  Athenaeum,  Boston,  in  stock 
company  at,  406. 

Howe,  j.  B.,  as  Trip,  151. 

Huron,  Lake,  sunsei  on,  20. 

lago,  220. 

Ichabod  Crane,  John  T.  Raymond  as, 

421. 
Idealism,  important  factor  in  dramatic 

art,  456. 
Illustration,  increase  of,  in  magazines 

and  newspapers,  397. 
Imagination,  fertile,  II,  12;  influence 

of,  456. 
Imitation  and  emulation   contrasted, 

!52,  !53- 

Imitators,  87,  420,  440 ;  anecdote  of 

Buckstone,  440,  441. 
"Independence  Day,"  Mrs.  Barney 

Williams's  song,  410. 
Indian,    Tom    Glessing's    adventure 

with  an,  91,  92. 
Indianapolis,  Tom  Glessing's  cottage 

at,  33i>  332- 

Indians,  the  stage  variety  contrasted 
with  the  genuine,  59;  murder 
actors  in  Florida,  60 ;  in  the  toggery 
of  the  legitimate  drama,  60 ;  hung 
for  murder,  60 ;  their  respect  for  the 
drama  distrusted,  60;  theatrical 
weapons  against,  61 ;  murder  Buck 
Wallace's  wife  and  child,  75  ; 
Wallace's  opinion  of  "  Boston 
Indians,"  76;  how  to  deal  with, 
92 ;  Cooper's  erroneous  descrip- 
tion of,  257. 

Industry  the  superstructure  of  dra- 
matic success,  462. 

Informers,  theatrical,  97,  98. 

Ingenuity,  dramatic,  1 86,  463. 

Inspiration,  431,  432. 

Instinct,  dramatic,  425-427. 

Instruction  in  the  dramatic  art,  448, 

449- 

Interest  in  character,  importance  of 
actor  feeling,  442-445. 

Introductions  (interpolations),  actor's 
right  to  make,  184;  in  "The  Ri- 
vals," 401. 

Intuition,  432. 

Inventors,  fate  of,  112,  326. 

Investments,  dubious,  393,  394. 

Ireland,  Joseph  N.,  "  Records  of  the 
New  York  Stage,"  14. 

Irish  blood,  an  attribute  of,  101. 

"  Irish  Emigrant,  The,"  John  Drew 
in,  411,  412. 


INDEX 


489 


Irish  servant  girl,  Barney  Williams's, 
411. 

"  Iron  Chest,  The,  "  44. 

Irving,  Washington,  "  Life  and  Let- 
ters of,  "  224  ;  am  complimented 
by,  225;  "The  Sketch  Book," 
225;  "Rip  Van  Winkle,"  225; 
letter  to  John  Miller,  415,  416; 
author  of  "  Wolfert's  Roost,"  421 ; 
am  introduced  as,  460 ;  exaltation 
of  "  Carl  the  Shepherd  "  into  "  Rip 
Van  Winkle,"  461. 

Itinerant  actor,  hopeful  disposition  of, 

Itinerant  theatricals,  pleasures  of,  in. 
Ivy,  beauty  and  ill  effects  of,  375. 

Jack  Cade,  Edwin  Forrest  as,  157. 

Jack  Gong,  Paul  Bedford  as,  304. 

Jarrett,  Henry  C.,  the  railroad  mana- 
ger, 151;  produces  "The  School 
for  Scandal"  in  Washington,  151, 
152,  154-156. 

Jealousy,  sometimes  useful,  82 ;  pro- 
fessional, 1 1 6-1 1 8,  211,  447. 

Jefferson,  Joseph  (my  father),  hope- 
ful nature,  1 7 ;  death,  36. 

Jefferson,  Margaret  C.,  death  of,  229. 

Jefferson,  Sarah,  sickness  of,  376. 

Jefferson,  Cornelia  F.  T.,  as  Clari,  27 ; 
keeps  boarding-house,  37;  vicissi- 
tudes in  life  of,  54;  death,  118. 

Jefferson,  Cornelia,  acts  as  bridesmaid 
at  my  wedding,  128. 

Jefferson,  Lieut.  Frank,  commander 
of  Queen  Victoria's  yacht,  310. 

Jefferson,  Rev.  Joseph,  visit  from, 
364-367. 

Jefferson,  Tom,  letter  from,  and  hos- 
pitality of,  310,  311. 

Jefferson  features,  365. 

Jem  Baggs,  103. 

"Jim  Crow,"  6-8. 

Job  Thornberry,  223. 

John,  my  Man  Friday,  469. 

John  Bull,  a  little,  366. 

John  Peerybingle,  Harry  Pearson  as, 
208. 

Johnson,  T.  B.,  as  Tackleton,  208. 

Joke,  a  cruel,  391,  392. 

Joseph  Surface,  J.  W.  Wallack,  Jr.,  as, 

Juliet,  265 ;  playing  under  difficulties, 
145,  146. 

"Julius  Caesar,"  mishaps  in,  at  Cin- 
cinnati Dramatic  Festival,  383. 

Katrina,  421. 

Kean,  Charles,  in  New  Orleans,  47, 
48;  in  the  English  colonies,  261  ; 


success  of,  261 ;  effects  of  age  on, 

261,  262,  265,  267,  268;  character, 
265-268 ;  comment  on  the  boome- 
rang, 266;   contrasted  with  Aus- 
tralian black,  266,  267. 

Kean,  Mrs.  Charles,  in  New  Orleans, 
48;  in  the  English  colonies,  261, 

262,  265,  267,  268 ;  character,  267, 
268. 

Kean,  Edmund,  as  Richard  III., 
drawing  of,  205,  206;  offends  the 
Kembles,  423 ;  early  trials  of,  449, 
450 ;  success  on  first  appearance  in 
London,  450,  451. 

Keene,  Laura,  opens  theater  in  New 
York,  183 ;  engages  me  for  leading 
comedy,  183 ;  judgment  in  regard 
to  plays,  184,  185;  ability  and  in- 
dustry, 187,  189-191,  205;  pro- 
duces "Splendid  Misery,"  189; 
produces  "  Blanche  of  Brandy- 
wine,"  189-192;  earlier  experi- 
ence, 190;  arranging  a  tableau, 
190-192 ;  produces  "  Our  American 
Cousin,"  193;  her  diamonds,  194 ; 
in  "Our  American  Cousin,"  197; 
misunderstandings  with,  198-200, 
202-204 ;  produces  "  A  Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream,"  203-205  ;  as 
Puck,  204 ;  last  days  of,  205  ;  part- 
ing gifts  from,  205, 206;  death,  206; 
personal  appearance,  versatility, 
and  character,  206;  in  "The  Sea 
of  Ice,"  206. 

Kelcey,  Herbert,  as  Bernardo,  422. 

Kellogg,  Gertrude,  as  The  Queen, 
422. 

Kemble,  Charles,  traces  of  his  school 
of  acting,  152;  as  Mercutio,  154. 

Kemble,  Fanny,  early  recollections 
of,  5- 

Khan,  The,  John  Cartlidge  cast  for, 
123,  124. 

Kidd,  Captain,  466. 

"  Kidd,  Captain,"  at  the  Amphitheater, 
Philadelphia,  121,  122. 

Killmist,  Mr.,  offers  me  place  at 
Washington  Theater,  97;  theater 
burned,  loo. 

King,    the    mimic    before    the    real, 

43°- 

King  Claudius,  Frank  Mayo  as,  422. 
King  Lear,  Edwin  Forrest  as,  167; 

Samuel  Phelps  as,  171;  compared 

with  Rip  Van  Winkle,  452,  453. 
Kingsley,     Charles,     meeting     with, 

360. 
"  Kiss  in  the  Dark,  A,"  at  St.  Charles 

Theater,  79. 
Koehler,  Charles,  as  Osric,  422. 


490 


INDEX 


Lady  Anne,  warned  to  beware  of  a 
bigamist,  64. 

Lady  Macbeth,  220,  265 ;  Charlotte 
Cushman  as,  414. 

"  Lady  of  Lyons,  The,  "  at  Clarks- 
ville,  Tenn.,  46 ;  in  Mississippi,  56 ; 
love  scenes  in,  195  ;  William  War- 
ren in,  405. 

Lady  Priory,  Julia  Dean  as,  147,  148. 

Lady  Sneerwell,  JaneGermon  as,  151. 

Lady  Teazle,  398 ;  Lizzie  Weston  as, 

i5*« 

Laertes,  Eben  Plympton  as,  422. 

Lafitte,  Captain,  buccaneer  and  slave- 
trader,  464-466,  469;  at  battle  of 
New  Orleans,  465. 

"  L'Ami  Fritz,"  at  the  Theatre  Fran- 
?ais,  353. 

Land,  Agnes,  230. 

Landry,  Pierre,  an  Acadian  patriarch, 
469-474 ;  as  peacemaker,  471 ; 
grave  of,  474. 

Landscape  painting,  French  school  of, 
356»357;  difficulties  of,  356,357; 
secret  of,  356,  357. 

Landslip,  a  great,  279,  280. 

Lane,  John  A.,  as  Horatio,  422. 

Language  and  action  compared,  214, 
215. 

Laughter  a  cure  for  dyspepsia,  309, 310. 

Laurel  wreath,  pleasure  and  pain  with 
a,  408. 

Lawsuit,  exhilarating  effects  of  a 
threatened,  99. 

Lawyer  meets  his  match,   102. 

Lawyers,  dramatic  wiles  of,  426. 

Legitimate  comedians,  420. 

Lemaitre,  Frederic,  Fechter's  admira- 
tion for,  341 ;  imitation  of,  341, 
342. 

Lepard,  George,  189. 

Le  Vert,  Madame,  38-40. 

Levick,  Milnes,  as  Second  Actor,  422. 

Lewis,  Monk,  author  of  "Castle  Spec- 
tre," 1 06. 

"Life  in  London,"  105. 

Likeness,  family,  310,  311. 

Lima,  Peru,  visit  to,  281-293;  sew- 
erage, 281,  282  ;  beauty  of  ladies, 
282,  283  ;  cavaliers,  282,  283 ;  use 
of  gas,  282 ;  theater,  282  ;  manners 
and  customs  of  the  theater,  283, 
284 ;  costume,  283,  292  ;  the  Grand 
Plaza,  284;  the  cathedral,  284, 
285  ;  beggars,  285, 286;  lack  of  rain, 
291 ;  scenery,  291-293  ;  gambling, 
•293. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  in  defense  of  the 
drama,  30. 

Lion-hunter,  a  female,  419. 


Listeners,  the  usual  fate  of,  306. 

Literature  and  art,  powers  compared 
with  drama,  259. 

Lithographs,  early  use  of,  236,  237. 

Little  Church  Around  the  Corner, 
christening  the,  340. 

Littleton  Coke,  criticism  of  the  charac- 
ter,  153. 

Liverpool,  appear  in,  321. 

"  Living  Statues,  The,"  6. 

London,  first  visit  to,  171;  arrive  in, 
301 ;  settle  in,  303 ;  first  appear- 
ance in,  310;  remarkable  effects 
of  its  atmosphere,  311;  pleasant 
society  in,  313 ;  reception  of  Ameri- 
can actors  in,  344-345 ;  revisit  in 
1875,  345  ;  engagement  with  Mr. 
Chatter-ton,  345 ;  letting  furnished 
houses  in,  351,  352;  return  from 


•giving  in,  359,  300;  clubs 
of,  362 ;  critical  society  of.  363  ; 
live  on  Belsize  Avenue,  364. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  in- 
timacy with  Browning,  361,  362  ; 
kindness  of,  362  ;  at  a  memorable 
feast,  407, 408 ;  scene  from  "  Evan- 
geline,"  467. 

Lord  Bttrleigh,  435,  436. 

Lord  Duberly,  James  G.  Burnett  as, 

193. 

Lord  Dundreary,  Sothern's  early 
dread  of  the  character,  194;  Soth- 
ern  as,  197,  198. 

Lord  Lovell,  Barton  Hill  as,  130. 

Louisiana,  my  plantation  in,  393,  464- 
476. 

Louisville,  Alexander  Drake  manager 
in,  62 ;  meet  George  D.  Prentice 
in,  328. 

"Louis  XL,"  a  private  rehearsal  in  a 
public  place,  263 ;  in  Charles 
Kean's  repertory,  265. 

Love  scenes,  general  weakness  of 
dramatic,  195  ;  English  and  French 
compared,  195 ;  Sardou's,  195 ; 
Bulwer's,  195 ;  "  Romeo  and  Ju- 
liet," 195. 

Loving  couple,  a,  364-367. 

Loyalty,  of  French  contrasted  with 
their  devotion  to  art,  176,  177;  of 
English  people,  261. 

Lucilius,  Seneca's  advice  to,  474. 

Ludlow  &  Smith,  managers  of  St. 
Charles  Theater,  47,  79;  theatri- 
cal partnership,  115  ;  managers  of 
Mobile  Theater,  146. 

Ludlow  Street  Jail,  Sir  William  Don 
in,  140;  an  invitation  to,  141. 


INDEX 


491 


Lunatic  asylum,  a  floating,  47. 

Lutz,  John,  recognizes  merits  of 
"Our  American  Cousin,"  193; 
manager  for  Laura  Keene,  204. 

Lyceum,  New  York,  under  manage- 
ment of  Brougham,  315;  under 
James  Wallack,  315. 

Lyceum  Theater,  London,  Fechter's 
failure  at,  342. 

Lydia  Languish,  Mrs.  John  Drew  as, 
4I3- 

McAllister,  keeper  of  billiard  saloon  in 
Memphis,  32. 

McAllister,  Mrs.,  an  appeal  by  one 
woman  to  another,  34. 

Macbeth,  186,  187,  220,  265 ;  Samuel 
Phelps  as,  171,  319. 

"Macbeth,"  dramatic  action  in,  186, 
187 ;  mishaps  in,  at  Drury  Lane 
Theater,  318,  319;  impropriety  of 
realism  in,  457,  458. 

McCullough,  John,  421. 

McKenzie  &  Jefferson,  build  theater 
in  Springfield,  111.,  28,  29 ;  dissolu- 
tion of  partnership,  31. 

Macon,  Ga.,  successful  season  in,  132. 

Macready,  William,  early  recollec- 
tions of,  5  ;  in  Mobile,  41 ;  char- 
acter, 41-44;  singeing  his  wig, 
42  ;  as  Werner,  42 ,  442-444 ;  on 
the  war-path,  43 ;  influence  of  his 
style  upon  James  W.  Wallack,  Jr., 
80  .;  Shaksperean  revivals  at  Drury 
Lane  Theater,  154;  troubles  with 
Forrest,  166,  167;  Chanfrau's  imi- 
tations of,  420;  Mrs.  Warner's 
criticism  of,  442-444. 

Macready  and  Forrest  riots,  344. 

"  Mad  Arithmetician,  The,"  by 
Charles  Mathews,  386. 

Madison  Square  Theater,  New  York, 
Charles  Mathews's  fondness  for, 

383»  384- 
"  Maid  of  the  Inn,  The,"  Mrs.  Drake 

in,  416. 
Major  Bagstock,  John  Brougham  as, 

Major  Oakly,  criticism  of  the  charac- 
ter, 153. 

Malaprop,  Mrs.,  Mrs.  John  Drew  as, 
400,  401. 

Malvolio,  W.  R.  Blake  as,  107 ;  Sam- 
uel Phelps  as,  171. 

Management,  love  for,  141. 

Manager,  enthusiasm  of  a,  58,  59; 
qualities  of  a  successful,  131,  132; 
a  star  in  search  of  a,  135 ;  from 
lamplighter  to,  235  ;  the  most  use- 
ful, 456. 


Managers,  a  word  as  to,  183, 184. 

Manchester,  play  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  " 
and  "  The  Parish  Clerk  "  in,  321. 

Mandillos,  70. 

Maoris,  physical  features  of,  272. 

Marble,  Danford,  20,  222. 

Marcellus,  Edwin  II.  Vanderfelt  as, 
422. 

Maria,  Mary  Devlin  as,  151. 

Marie  Antoinette,  thoughts  of,  173. 

Mark  Antony,  383 ;  in  a  queer  pre- 
dicament, 383. 

Mar  low,  463. 

Marrall,  cast  for,  129. 

Marriage,  my  first,  127,  128;  my  sec- 
ond, 323. 

Mary,  my  foster-mother,  8-10;  death, 
40. 

Mary,  Mrs.  Drake  as,  416. 

"  Masaniello,"  overture  in  Lima  Ca- 
thedral, 284. 

Massachusetts  vs.  South  Carolina, 
276,  278,  279. 

Matamoras,  Mex.,  occupied  by  United 
States  army,  67 ;  reopening  old 
Spanish  theater  in,  67;  close  of 
theater,  default  of  manager,  and 
dissolution  of  company,  67 ;  open 
coffee  and  cake  stand,  68;  pen- 
alty for  murder,  69 ;  early  closing, 
71,  72;  houses  and  life  in,  72; 
voyage  to  Brazos  Santiago  from, 
78. 

Maternal  affection  in  Australia,  244. 

Mathews,  Charles  (the  elder),  char- 
acter of  his  work,  221. 

Mathews,  Charles, as  Charles  Surface, 
153 ;  as  Roderigo,  154;  on  the 
character  of  Mercutio,  154;  fond- 
ness for  Madison  Square  Theater, 
383,  384;  character,  talents,  and 
humor,  385-392;  trip  on  Flying 
Scotchman  with,  386;  dinner  with 
Byron,  Planche,  and,  386,  387; 
philosophy  of,  387 ;  sympathy  and 
affection,  387,  388;  repertory  of, 
389;  unsuccessful  engagement  at 
Boston  Theater,  390;  jokes  on  the 
subject,  390-392 ;  in  the  Bulfinch 
Place  kitchen,  407. 

May,  Capt.  Charles  A.,  charge  of,  at 
battle  of  Resaca  de  la  Palma,  67. 

May  Fielding,  Mrs.  J.  H.  Allen  as, 
208. 

Mayo,  Frank,  as  King  Claudius,  422. 

"  Mazeppa,"  at  Amphitheater,  Phila- 
delphia, 123. 

Mechanical  contrivances,  increase  in 
use  of,  397. 

Mechanical  ingenuity,  144. 


492 


INDEX 


MegMerrilies,  Charlotte  Cushmanas, 

414. 
Meissonier    contrasted    with    Millet, 

385- 

Melbourne,  Viet.,  from  Sydney  to, 
239>  273  >  successful  season  at 
Princess's  Theater,  239;  Hay- 
market  Theater,  239;  return  to, 
259;  play  at  Haymarket  Theater, 
259;  voyage  to  New  Zealand  from, 
271 ;  to  Callao  from,  275,  276. 

Melbourne  Argus,  excellence  of  criti- 
cisms in,  239. 

Melodrama,  duties  of  low  comedian  in, 
I2O,  121. 

Memphis,  47;  first  visit  to,  31;  inter- 
view with  mayor  of,  31 ;  passage  to 
Mobile  from,  33-36. 

Mercutio,  220,  308 ;  Charles  Kemble 
as,  154  ;  Charles  Mathews  on  the 
character  of,  154. 

Mestayer,  Mrs.  Charles,  marries 
Barney  Williams,  410. 

Metamora,  Edwin  Forrest  as,  160; 
series  of  mishaps  to  Forrest  in, 
160-165. 

Metropolitan  Opera  House,  New 
York,  Lester  Wallack's  testimonial 
at,  421,  422  ;  cast,  422. 

Metta,  73,  74,  77,  78. 

Mexican  War,  outbreak  of,  65. 

Mexico,  life  in,  72. 

Micawber,  W.  E.  Burton  as,  loo. 

Michigan,  Lake,  21. 

"  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  pro- 
duced by  Laura  Keene,  203-205. 

Miller,  John,  letter  from  Washington 
Irving,  415,  416. 

Millet,  J.  F.,  a  sad  picture  by,  355 ; 
apostrophe  to,  355 ;  treatment  by 
the  Salon,  356,  423 ;  nature  of  his 
work,  357;  contrasted  with  Meis- 
sonier, 385. 

Mirabel,  criticism    of    the  character, 

.153- 

Missionary,  New  Zealand  use  for, 
272. 

Mississippi,  Charles  Burke  with  com- 
pany in,  52,  53 ;  barn-storming 
in,  54-57;  traveling  through,  57. 

Mississippi  River,  scenery  in  the,  25  ; 
fishing  in,  35;  up  the,  48;  float- 
ing theater  on,  62. 

Missouri  River,  floating  theater  on, 
62. 

Mist  her  O' Winkle,  378. 

Mitchell,  William,  manager  of  the 
Olympic  Theater,  107;  conflict 
with  W.  E.  Burton,  107 ;  stricken 
with  paralysis,  107. 


Mobile,  arrival  at,  36 ;  benefit  in,  39 ; 

James  Wallack,  Sr.,in,  40. 
Mobile  Theater,    under  management 

of  Ludlow  &  Smith,  146 ;  "  Wives 

as  They  Were,  and  Maids  as  They 

Are,"  at,  147,  148. 
Modjeska,  Helena,  as  Ophelia,  422. 
Moliere,  comedies  of,  at  the  Theatre 

Frangais,  354. 

"  Money,"  love  scenes  in,  195. 
Monterey,  march  on,  67. 
Montgomery,  Walter,  in  the  Bulfinch 

Place  kitchen,  407. 
Moonlight,  acting  by,  56;  musings  by, 

*73»  3745  sleeping  in  the,  254. 
Moral  drama,  character  of,  454,  455. 
Mordaunt,  Frank,  as  Francisco,  422. 
Morgan,  Australian  bushranger,  257, 

258. 
Morningside,  Scotland,  residence  at, 

352»  372. 

Mose,  F.  S.  Chanfrau  as,  420. 
Moses,  appearance  as,  151. 
"Mother's  Pet,  The,"  in  a  Chinese 

theater,  269. 
Motive,   importance  of,   in  dramatic 

writing,  462. 
Mowatt,  Anna  Cora,  in  New  Orleans, 

48;  defects  in  her  acting,  138. 
Munden,   Joseph   S.,  portrait  of,  at 

Garrick  Club,  362. 

Murdoch,  James  E.,  as  Charles  Sur- 
face, 151—154;  versatility  and  ori- 
ginality of,  152-154;  style  in  light 

comedy,   153,  154;  at  Haymarket 

Theater,  London,  153,  154. 
Murray   River,    visit    to    region   of, 

242-255. 
Mystery,  pleasure  in,   333;   a   dark, 

376,   377- 

"  Naiad  Queen,  The,"  at  Ford's  The- 
ater, Richmond,  157. 

Nashville,  Tenn.,  45. 

Natchez,  Miss.,  Tom  Glessing's  ad- 
venture at,  91-93. 

Nature,  resentment  of  imitation,  356, 
357;  on  the  stage,  453,  454. 

Nautical  drama,  propriety  of  realism 
in,  457- 

Neal,  Joe,  n. 

Neal,  Mrs.,  11-13. 

Necessity  the  foster-mother  of  art, 
449. 

Neptune,  The,  sail  for  England  in, 
171. 

Nervousness  at  meeting  new  com- 
pany, 303. 

New  Englander,  how  depicted,  20. 

Neivman  Noggs,  in  character  of,  209. 


INDEX 


493 


New  Orleans^voyage  from  Brazos 
Santiago,  to,  78 ;  American  Thea- 
ter closed,  8<5~;  Lafitte  at  battle  of, 

465-  ^3,  f7,fj, 

Newspaper  controversies,  101. 
Newspaper  criticism,  importance   of, 

to  an  actor,  115. 
Newspapers,  increase   of  illustration 

i«>  397- 

"New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,  A," 
play  Marrall\T\,  129. 

New  York,  great  fire  of  1835,  13; 
first  appearance  in,  14,  15  ;  early 
residence  in  James  Street,  15  ;  my 
cemetery  playground  in,  15,  16 ; 
marriage  at  old  church  in  Oliver 
Street,  128 ;  shipping  actors  to 
Wilmington  by  schooner  from, 
141-143;  fishing  in  Union  Square, 
337,  338 ;  Fechter's  failure  in,  342 ; 
reception  of  English  actors  in,  344, 

345- 
New   Zealand,    from    Melbourne   to, 

271;    success   in,    272;    use    for 

missionaries  in,   272;    to  Sydney 

from,  272. 
New  Zealanders,  dramatic  instinct  in, 

425- 
Nick      Vedder,     Paul      Bedford     as, 

3°4- 

Nimrod,  The,  embark  from  San  Fran- 
cisco for  Sydney  on,  231. 

Norfolk  Island,  232. 

North  vs.  South,  on  the  stage,  213- 
215. 

Notoriety,  evil  effects  of  desire  for, 

334- 
Notre  Dame,  Paris,  moonlight  view 

of,   1 73. 
Novices,  ephemeral  success  of  some, 

460,  461. 

Ober-Ammergau,  religious  tableau  at 
Callao  contrasted  with  the  Passion 
Play  at,  290,  291. 

O'Connell,  Daniel,  letter  from  John 
Howard  Payne  to,  416,  417. 

"  Octoroon,  The,"  difficulty  with  the 
management  in,  211-213;  power- 
ful influence  of,  213-215  ;  produced 
in  Sydney,  239. 

O' Flanaghan,  John  Drew  as,  412. 

O'Grady,  John  Brougham  as,  314. 

O'Grady,  Father,  fellow-passenger  on 
the  Nimrod,  231 ;  calls  on  me  in 
Sydney,  with  his  wife,  273  ;  apos- 
trophe to,  283. 

Ohio  River,  down  the,  46,  47;  float- 
ing theater  on,  62. 

Old  friends,  disloyalty  of,  194. 


Olympic  Theater,  New  York,  man- 
aged by  William  Mitchell,  107;  end 
of  conflict  between  Burton  and, 
107. 

O.  P.  riots,  296. 

Opera,  the,  Paris,  355. 

Opera  Comique,  the,  Paris,  294,  355. 

Operas,  grand,  requirement  of  space 
for,  383. 

Ophelia,  Helena  Modjeska  as,  422. 

Opposition  and  competition  contrasted, 
101. 

Orange  groves,  profits  from,  394. 

Oratorio  compared  with  acting,  428. 

Orchestra,  a  panic-stricken,  126,  127; 
a  Chinese,  268;  perils  surround- 
ing an,  163. 

Originality  in  acting,  152,  153. 

Osric,  Charles  Koehler  as,  422. 

Othello,  220 ;  Edwin  Forrest  as,  167. 

*'  Our  American  Cousin,"  early  rejec- 
tion of,  193;  produced  by  Laura 
Keene,  193;  success  of,  193,  194, 
196-198,  200,  203;  value  of  the 
love  scene  in,  194-196;  strong  cast 
in,  197;  secure  right  of  starring 
with,  205 ;  results,  207 ;  my  first 
serious  work  in,  209;  as  Asa 
Trenchard  in,  222 ;  produced  in 
Sydney,  239. 

Overbilling,  evil  effects  of,  229. 

Owens,  John  E. ,  222, 420 ;  as  Mr.  Pit- 
tibone,  79,  81,  82 ;  his  fine  acting, 
81,82. 

Pacific  coast,  a  misnomer,  279,  280. 

Pacific  Ocean,  275,  276. 

Painters,  extravagances  of  some  in 
London,  362,  363 ;  subject  to  bias 
at  hands  of  brother  artists, 423,  424. 

Painting,  348,  350 ;  secret  of  land- 
scape, 356,  357;  compared  with 
acting,  384,  385,  428  ;  analogy  be- 
tween poetry,  music,  and,  428. 

Pakenham,  General,  465. 

Palais  Royal,  Paris,  177,  353,  355. 

Palmo's  Theater,  New  York,  pur- 
chased by  W.  E.  Burton,  106; 
strength  of  company  at,  107. 

Palo  Alto,  Mex.,  battle  of,  66. 

Panama,  voyage  from  Callao  to,  293- 
295  ;  cool  reception  in,  297-301 ; 
leave  for  England,  301. 

Panic  of  1837,  effects  on  theatrical 
matters,  52. 

Panic  of  1857,  187-189. 

Pantomime,  distinguished  from  dra- 
matic action,  185-187;  English, 
312,  313;  value  of,  435,  436;  ne- 
cessity of  harmony  with  scene,  445. 


494 


INDEX 


Paradise  Valley,  Pa.,  summering  at, 
224. 

Paris,  first  visit  to,  173  ;  Hotel  Byron, 
173;  a  terrible  fight  at,  174;  econ- 
omy in,  i75>  second  visit  to,  176, 
177;  a  guide  in,  176-179,  151, 
182;  theatrical  wardrobe  shops  in, 
177-182;  guyed  in,  179,  180;  re- 
turn to  America  from,  182 ;  third 
visit  to,  346;  Hotel  Mirabeau, 
346;  our  flat  in  Avenue  d'Eylau, 
346,  348-351 ;  engage  French 
teacher  in,  346,  347  ;  scenery 
around,  348;  furnished  houses  in, 
351  ;  sacredness  of  art  in,  352;  art 
galleries  of,  355. 

"  Parish  Clerk,  The,"  play  in  Man- 
chester in,  321. 

Parrot's  coffin,  a,  376,  377. 

Partnerships,  theatrical,  115,  Il6. 

Passion  Play  at  Ober-Ammergau  con- 
trasted with  religious  tableau  at 
Callao,  290,  291. 

Past  vs.  Present,  422-424. 

Patent  theaters,  privileges  of,  368. 

Patriarch,  an  Acadian,  469-474. 

Pauline,  195. 

Paul  Pry,  103. 

Pawn,  getting  an  actor's  wardrobe  out 
of,  136. 

Payne,  John  Howard,  author  of  "Clari, 
the  Maid  of  Milan, "  and  of 
"  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  27 ;  letter 
to  Daniel  O'Connell,  415-417;  let- 
ter to  Mrs.  Drake,  417,  418; 
scheme  for  periodical,  41 7. 

Pearson,  Harry,  as  John  Peerybingle, 
208. 

Pedestrian  exercise,  45. 

Pekin,  111.,  play  in  a  pork  house  in,  27. 

Peoria,  111.,  27. 

Perry,  Harry,  230. 

Persecutions,  early,  9,  10. 

Peru  and  Chili,  war  between,  293. 

Peruvian,  scalping  a,  5, 6. 

Peruvian  bark,  a  heavy  dose  of,  277. 

Phelps,  Samuel,  versatility  of,  171 ;  as 
Macbeth,  171,  319 ;  as  Sir  Pertinax 
McSycophant,  171;  as  Malvolio, 
171;  as  King  Lear,i*ji',  as  Sir 
Anthony  Absolute,  171 ;  as  Bottom, 
171. 

Philadelphia,  my  place  of  birth,  14; 
Arch  Street  Theater  managed  by 
W.  E.  Burton,  57,  83  ;  a  desperado 
from,  75;  death  and  burial  of 
my  mother  at,  118;  the  Amphi- 
theater at,  1 1 8. 

Phillips,  Mr.,  stage-manager  at  Adel- 
phi  Theater,  305. 


Philosophical  discussions,  decline  of, 

in  modern  plays,  397. 
Philosophy,  inborn,  33,  34. 
Physiognomy,  a  curious   fact   about, 

250,251. 
Pigs  and  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  27, 

28. 

Pioneer,  The,  canal-boat,  18. 
Pirate  of  the  Gulf,  the,  465,  469. 
Pitcairn  Islanders,  232. 
Pittibone,    Mr,,  John  E.   Owens  as, 

79,  81,  82. 
Pizarro,  281. 
Placide,  Henry,  as  The  Fool,  107 ;  as 

Sir  Peter  Teazle,   151,   154,   155; 

follows  style  of  Farren,  155;  his 

career,  155. 

Placide,  Thomas,  as  Crabtree,  151. 
Planche,  James  R.,  313 ;  dinner  with 

Mathews,  Byron,  and,  386,  387. 
Plantation  songs,  468. 
Play,  community  that  never   saw  a, 

55-57;  likened  to  a  picture,  157; 

on  altering  text  of,  201. 
Player  Queen,  The,  Rose  Coghlan  as, 

422. 
Players,  The,  simplicity  of  Hamlet's 

instructions  to,  455. 
Playground,  a  strange,  15,  16. 
Playhouse,  my  first,  1-5. 
Plays,  literary  merit  of,  184,  185;  old- 
fashioned,  264,  265. 
Plympton,  Eben,  as  Laertes,  422. 
"  Pocahontas,"     written     by     John 

Brougham,  315,  316;  played  under 

difficulties,  315-317. 
Pocahontas,  John  Brougham  as,  317. 
Pocono    Mountain,   Pa.,   summering 

near,  224. 
Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  contributes  to  the 

"  Gentleman's    Magazine,"    101  ; 

quarrels  with  Burton,  101. 
Poetical    speeches,    decline     of,    in 

modern  plays,  397. 
Poetry,  analogy  between  music,  acting, 

painting,  and,  428. 
Point  Isabel,  Tex.,  voyage  to,  66. 
Point  of  view  to  be  regarded  in  paint- 
ing and  acting,  384,  385. 
Poker,  a  British  estimate  of,  136. 
Police,  theatrical  contempt  for,  313. 
Policeman,  hooking  a,  338. 
Politics  and  art,  352. 
Polonius,  John  Gilbert  as,  422  ;   sim- 
plicity of  advice  to  his  son,  455. 
Pork-house,  playing  in,  27. 
Port  Gibson,  Miss.,  Charles  Burke's 

company  in,  53  ;  arrival  at,  54. 
Posturing,  6. 
Pot-luck,  definition  of,  140. 


INDEX 


495 


Povey,  John,  agent  for  Charles  Ma- 
thews,  391;  cruel  joke  on,  391, 
392. 

Power,  Tyrone,  early  recollections  of, 
5  ;  an  early  star,  221 ;  ability  and 
success  of,  221,  222 ;  at  Theater 
Royal,  Dublin,  and  Haymarket 
Theater,  London,  221 ;  influence 
on  the  American  stage,  222 ;  com- 
pared with  John  Drew,  413. 

Powhatan,  John  Brougham  as,  316, 
317. 

Practical  joker,  a,  337,  338. 

Prairie,  a  journey  over,  24,  25. 

Prejudice  in  criticism,  423,  424. 

Prentice,  George  D.,  editor  of  "Louis- 
ville Journal,"  328 ;  manner,  per- 
sonal appearance,  and  talents,  328- 

33i. 

Preparation  in  acting,  431. 
Pre-Raphaelite  work,  value  of,  359. 
Present  vs.  Past,  422-424. 
Priest,  Harry  Edwards  as,  422. 
Prince    of   Wales's    Theater,    under 

Marie  Wilton,  317. 
Princess's  Theater,  London,  "  Arrah 

na  Pogue,"  at,  314;    engagement 

at,  345,  359- 

Princess's  Theater,  Melbourne,  suc- 
cessful season  at,  239. 

Private  rehearsal.  308,  309 ;  in  a  pub- 
lic place,  263. 

Procrastination,  433. 

"  Prodigal  Son,  The,"  at  Spanish 
Theater,  Callao,  289. 

Profit-sharing  in  early  days,  57,  58. 

Properties,  drying  out,  26 ;  use  of,  at 
rehearsal,  434. 

Provincial  companies,  customs  of,  143, 
144. 

Pruning,  value  of,  403. 

Public,   the,    105,    106;   fair  play  of, 

344* 
Public    approval,    a   great    stimulus, 

Puck,    refuse  to    play,    204 ;    Laura 

Keene  as,  204. 

Puff,  Mr.,  435,436;  wisdom  of,  451. 
Pulpit,  actors  in  the,  426. 
Pumping,  277,  278,  286,  287. 
Pythias,  Edwin  Adams  as,  158. 

Quarrels  between  actor  and  manager, 

213. 
Queen,    The,    Gertrude    Kellogg    as, 

422. 
Queen  Catherine,  265 ;  Charlotte  Cush- 

man  as,  414. 
Queen  Elizabeth,  Mrs.  J.  W.  Wallack, 

Jr.,  as,  79,  80. 


Queen's  yacht,  commanded  by  Lieu- 
tenant Frank  Jefferson,  310. 
Quin,  James,   criticism    on    Garrick, 

423- 
Quincy,  111.,  playing  in  court  house, 

27. 
Quizzing,  an  actor's  fondness  for,  127, 

128. 

Raeburn,  Sir  Henry,  portraits  by,  in 
Gregory  mansion,  373. 

Railroad  manager,  the,  151. 

Rashleigh  Osbaldistone,  William  War- 
ren as,  405. 

Ray,  Mrs.,  143. 

Raymond,  John  T.,  a  successful  co- 
median, 222  ;  manages  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle  "  at  Carusi's  Hall,  Wash- 
ington, 227 ;  a  legitimate  comedian, 
420;  as  Ichabod  Crane,  421;  as 
Colonel  Sellers,  421 ;  ability,  421. 

Raymond,  Oliver,  at  Palmo's  Theater, 
107;  as  Mr.  Toots,  437;  sudden 
rise,  437. 

Reade,  Charles,  313. 

Realism,  in  art,  453,  454  ;  important 
factor  in  dramatic  art,  456-458; 
out  of  place  in  "  Rip  Van  Winkle," 
457 ;  propriety  of,  in  nautical  drama 
and  rural  scenes,  45  7. 

Rebozo,  the,  292. 

Reception,  a  cool,  297-301. 

"  Records  of  the  New  York  Stage," 
14. 

Re-creation  of  characters,  414. 

Rehearsal,  a  private,  in  a  public  place, 
263  ;  private,  308,  309  ;  quality,  not 
quantity,  432,  433 ;  importance  of 
the  first,  433 ;  stage-manager's, 
author's,  and  actor's  duties  as  to, 
433 ;  use  of  scenery  and  proper- 
ties at,  434 ;  importance  of  thor- 
oughness in,  435  ;  value  of  careful 
preparation  at,  436-438. 

Rehearsing  under  difficulties,  89. 

Reign  of  Terror,  thoughts  of  the,  173. 

"  Relapse,  The,"  402,  403. 

Religion,  the  drama  and,  29,  30;  de- 
mocracy of,  285. 

Religious  tableau,  a,  289-291. 

Repose,  value  of,  446. 

Resaca  de  la  Palma,  battle  of,  67. 

Reuling,  Dr.,  oculist,  388. 

Reunions,  family,  311,  312. 

Revenge,  a  sister's,  258. 

Rice,  John  B.,  Salisbury's  telegram  to, 
215  ;  married  to  Mary  Anne  War- 
ren, 392 ;  theatrical  manager  in 
Chicago,  393 ;  mayor  of  Chicago, 
393  ;  member  of  Congress,  393 ; 


496 


INDEX 


character,  393-395  ;  ridicules  my 
investments,  393, 394 ;  quarrel  with 
Edwin  Forrest,  394;  dumfounds  a 
scientist,  394-396. 

Rice,  T.  D.,  6-8. 

Richard  Dazzle,  criticism  of  the  char- 
acter, 153. 

Richard  III,  Pudding  Stanley  as, 
62-65  ;  drawing  of  Edmund  Kean 
as,  205,  206 ;  ludicrous  blunder  in 
playing,  368. 

"Richard  I II,"  445;  at  St.  Charles 
Theater,  79-81. 

Riches,  philosophizing  on,  303. 

Richings,  Peter,  in  the  Bulfinch  Place 
kitchen,  407. 

Richmond,  Va.,  become  manager  of 
Ford's  Theater,  at,  157;  in  search 
of  news  from,  278, 279 ;  season  in, 
412. 

Ringgold,  Major  Samuel,  wounded  at 
battle  of  Palo  Alto,  66. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  monologue  for,  227; 
strikes  a  sympathetic  chord  in  G. 
D.  Prentice,  331;  suggested  change 
to  an  Irishman,  378;  compared 
with  King  Lear,  452,  453 ;  not  a 
temperance  lecturer,  454 ;  am  iden- 
tified as  the  original,  458, 459. 

"Rip  Van  Winkle,"  evolution  of, 
223-229,  302,  456,  461,  462;  early 
dramatizations  of,  225,  461;  first 
rehearsals  of,  227,228;  analysis  of 
the  long  sleep  in,  228;  results  of 
first  presentation  of,  229  ;  remod- 
eled, 229 ;  produced  in  Sydney, 
239;  rewritten  by  Boucicault,  302, 
461 ;  engage  to  play  at  Adelphi 
Theater,  302;  reading,  303 ;  re- 
hearsal, 304-306;  an  important 
production  of,  308 ;  first  produc- 
tion in  London,  310;  success  of, 
310,  380, 458,  459 ;  appear  in  Man- 
chester in,  321  ;  success  in  Belfast, 
380  ;  not  a  temperance  play,  454  ; 
poetic  element  in,  454;  suggested 
end  of  characters  in,  454;  impro- 
priety of  realism  in,  457;  play  in 
Catskill,  458,  459 ;  a  new  reading 
in,  459 ;  lessons  to  be  drawn  from 
its  career,  460-462. 

Rivalry,  116-118. 

"  Rivals,  The,"  am  invited  to  produce 
at  Cincinnati  Dramatic  Festival, 
382  ;  compared  with,  "  The  School 
for  Scandal,"  397-399;  altering 
and  condensing,  397-403 ;  purity 
°f»399  '•>  introduction  by  Mrs.  John 
Drew,  401  ;  epilogue,  401 ;  criti- 
cism of  my  changes  in,  401,402; 


justification  of  changes,  402, 403 ;  in 
Philadelphia,  413  ;  effects  in,  446, 

447- 

"Road  to  Ruin,  The,"  at  Laura 
Keene's  Theater,  224. 

Robbers,  in  dread  of,  113,  114. 

Roberts,  David,  picture  by,  at  the  Gar- 
rick  Club,  362. 

Robertson,  Agnes,  at  Ford's  Theater, 
Richmond,  157;  as  Dot,  208; 
beauty  of,  209. 

Robertson,  Tom,  meeting  with,  317; 
writing  comedies  for  Marie  Wil- 
ton, 317;  success  and  good  qual- 
ities of  his  plays,  317;  character 
and  genius,  317-319;  as  racon- 
teur, 317,  318;  views  of  Gold- 
smith, 318  ;  sense  of  humor,  319  ; 
attachment  for  Artemus  Ward, 
320,  321. 

"  Rob  Roy,"  405. 

Robson,  Mr.,  171. 

Roderigo,  Charles  Mathews  as,  154. 

Rolamo,  Mr.,  manager  of  theater  at 
Sydney,  234;  cockney  tongue  of, 
235  ;  industry  and  success  of,  235  ; 
estimation  of  Yankee  comics,  235  ; 
opinion  of  "the  legitimate,"  236. 

Rolla,  5. 

Romance,  a  dreamland  of,  293. 

"  Romance  of  the  English  Stage,  The," 

45°- 

Romeo,  playing,  under  difficulties,  145, 
146. 

"Romeo  and  Juliet,"  220;  in  Wil- 
mington, 144;  ludicrous  accident 
in,  144-146;  perfection  of  love 
scene  in,  195. 

Rosebush,  a  sympathetic,  333. 

Rosencrantz,  Charles  Hanford  as,  422. 

Roses,  Tom  Glessing's,  331,  333. 

Rouen,  173. 

"  Rough  Diamond,  The,"  produced  in 
Savannah,  136-138. 

Rousseau,   T.,  nature   of   his    work, 

Rowe,  George  Fawcett,  manager  of 
Princess's  Theater,  Melbourne, 
239;  contract  with,  239. 

Roivley,  Mr.  Ellis  as,  151. 

Royal  Academy,  Loan  Exhibition  at, 
368. 

St.  Andrew,  ludicrous  mishap  of,  125- 
127. 

St.  Anthony,  a  modern,  273,  283. 

St.  Charles  Theater,  New  Orleans, 
acting  in,  47;  "Richard  III"  at, 
79-81 ;  under  management  of  Lud- 
low  &  Smith,  79 ;  "A  Kiss  in  the 


INDEX 


497 


Dark  "  at,  79;  James  W.  Wallack, 

Jr.,   Mrs.    Wallack,  and  John  E. 

Owens  at,  79-82. 
St.  David,  125. 

St.  Denis,  ludicrous  mishap  of,  125, 126. 
St.  George,  Charles  Foster  as,  125, 126. 
"St.  George  and  the  Dragon  "  at  Am- 
phitheater, Philadelphia,  125-127. 
St.  Louis,  Mo.,  a  summer's  acting  in, 

48,  49 ;  hissed  off  the  stage  at,  49, 

382 ;  play  with  Burnett  in,  193. 
St.  Patrick,  125. 
Sala,  George  Augustus,  meeting  with, 

360. 
Salem  Scudder,  in  character  of,  209 ; 

resign  part,  211. 
Salisbury,  Charles,  guying  tendency, 

215,  216;  telegram  to  Rice,  215  ; 

wonderful  memory,  215 ;    dunned 

by  laundress,  216. 
Salon,  Paris,  treatment  of  Millet,  356  ; 

prejudice   in   admitting  members, 

423,  424. 
Salt  Island,  467. 
Sampson,  in  character  of,  44. 
San  Antonio,  Tex.,  offer  to  play  in, 

58»  59- 

San  Francisco,  Cal.,  failure  in,  229; 
sail  for  Sydney  from,  231. 

San  Francisco  cathedral  at  Lima,  284, 
285. 

Sardou,  Victorien,  estimate  of,  185  ; 
dramatic  action  in  one  of  his  com- 
edies, 185,  186  ;  coarseness  of,  195. 

Savage  Club,  London,  362. 

Savannah,  Ga.,  ill  success  in,  132, 133 ; 
its  beauty,  133. 

Saxe- Weimar,  Duke  of,  opinion  of 
Mrs.  Drake,  416. 

Scenery,  dipped  in  the  Mississippi 
River,  25  ;  a  new  use  for,  46,  47 ; 
acting  without,  54;  increased 
splendor  of,  396;  use  of,  at  re- 
hearsals, 434. 

Schenectady,  playing  in,  17,  18. 

Schneider,  public  interest  in,  453. 

Scholastic  dramatic  institution,  im- 
portance of,  354,  355. 

School,  influence  of  the  free,  50. 

"  School  for  Scandal,  The,"  produced 
by  Jarrett  at  Washington,  151, 
152,  154-156;  artificiality,  398; 
indelicacy,  399 ;  compared  with 
"The  Rivals, "397-399. 

Scotland,  honesty  in,  352 ;  sport  in, 

370,  371- 

Scottish  chief,  a,  370. 
"  Sea  of  Ice,  The,'"  at  Ford's  Theater, 

Richmond,  157;  Laura  Keene  in, 

206. 
32 


Search,  Jake,  property  man  at  Ford's 
Theater,  160 ;  hides  from  Forrest's 
wrath,  160,  162. 

Second  Actor,  Milnes  Levick  as,  422. 

Second  Gravedigger,  W.  J.  Florence 
as,  422. 

Second-hand  shops  of  Paris  and  Lon- 
don contrasted,  178. 

Sefton,  John,  15;  partnership  with, 
111-116. 

Seguin  company,  as  leader  of  chorus 
in,  327. 

Seine,  scenery  of  the,  1 73. 

Self-confidence  and  courage  contrasted, 

45°- 

Self-defense,  take  lessons  in,  212, 
213. 

Selfishness,  incentive  to  favorable  crit- 
icism, 194. 

Seminole  War,  murder  of  actors  dur- 
ing, 60. 

Seneca's  advice  to  Lucilius,  474. 

Shabby  gentility,  378-380. 

Shakspere,  William,  works  sometimes 
overshadowed  by  inferior  plays, 
106;  starring  system  attributable 
to,  220 ;  magnitude  of  his  heroes, 
220;  characters  in  his  comedies, 
220,  221 ;  former  restrictions  re- 
garding his  plays,  368 ;  simplicity 
of  presentation  of  his  lessons,  455, 

456- 

Shaksperean  productions,  improve- 
ment in  modern,  1 08. 

Shaksperean  revivals,  at  Drury  Lane 
Theater,  Macready's,  154. 

Sharing  scheme,  a,  57,  58. 

Sheep-farming  in  Australia,  242. 

Shepherds,  Australian,  247. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  works 
sometimes  overshadowed  by  infe- 
rior plays,  106 ;  description  of  a 
lady's  face,  365  ;  alters  "  The  Re- 
lapse "  to  "A  Trip  to  Scarbor- 
ough," 402, 403. 

Sheridan  twenty  miles  away,  402. 

"  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  deception 
of  characters  in,  463. 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  296. 

Sign -painting,  from  scene-painting  to, 

31'  52- 

Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek,  Lester  Wal- 
lack as,  107;  J.  B.  Buckstone  as, 
441. 

Sir  Anthony  Absolute,  Samuel  Phelps 
as,  171;  James  Burnett  as,  193. 

Sir  Benjamin  Backbite,  I.  M.  Dawson 
as,  151. 

Sir  Edward  Mortimer,  J.  B.  Booth 
as,  44. 


498 


INDEX 


Sir  Giles  Overreach,  J.  B.  Booth  as, 

129-131. 
Sir  Harry  Bumper,  J.  M.  Barren  as, 

IS*- 

Sir  John  Falstaff,  221. 

Sir  Lucius  O' Trigger,  401;  John 
Drew  as,  413. 

Sir  Oliver  Surface,  George  Andrews 
as,  151. 

Sir  Pertinax  McSycophant,  Samuel 
Phelps  as,  171. 

Sir  Peter  Teazle,  Henry  Placide  as, 
151,  154,  155. 

Sir  Toby  Belch,  W.  E.  Burton  as, 
107. 

Sister's  revenge,  a,  258. 

Skeleton  dance,  Australian,  242-244. 

Slavery  question,  the,  213-215. 

Slave-stealer,  a,  465. 

Sleep,  the  great  doctor,  361. 

Smith,  E.  T.,  manager  of  Astley's 
Circus,  312. 

Smith,  James,  theatrical  critic  of  Mel- 
bourne "Argus,"  239. 

Smith,  Rev.  Sydney,  description  of  a 
New  Zealand  lunch,  272  ;  earnest 
wish  of,  272. 

Snake,  Edwin  Adams  as,  151. 

Snoring,  the  philosophy  of,  85,  86. 

Social  position  in  England  and  America 
contrasted,  251,  252. 

"Soldier's  Daughter,  The,"  Mrs. 
Drake  in,  416. 

Soldiers,  United  States,  sufferings  in 
Mexico,  78. 

Soliloquy,  addressed  to  audience,  430 ; 
importance  of  keeping  up  interest 
in,  442. 

Sophocles,  "Antigone,"  102-104; 
called  before  the  curtain  by  a  Phil- 
adelphia audience,  102,  103. 

Sothern,  E.  A.,  early  dread  of  charac- 
ter of  Lord  Dundreary,  194,  197; 
plays  the  part  with  success,  197, 
198;  as  Brother  Sam,  198;  a  suc- 
cessful comedian,  222. 

South  vs.  North,  on  the  stage,  213- 
215. 

South  Carolina  vs.  Massachusetts,  276, 
278,  279. 

Southern  circuit,  132-149. 

Spanish,  learning,  74. 

Spanish  and  French  women  contrasted, 
283. 

Spectacles,    fate    of    their    inventor, 

112. 

Spectacular  plays,  requirement  of 
space  for,  383. 

"Spectre  Bridegroom,  The,"  by  moon- 
light, 56. 


Speech,  rehearsing  a,  91-93. 
Spider  and  the  fly,  the,  351. 
Spiritualism,  252,  253,  255. 
"  Splendid     Misery,"     produced    by 

Laura  Keene,  189. 
Spontaneity,  431,  432,  437,  445. 
Sports,  Australian,  242-245. 
Springfield,  111.,  275  buildinga  theater 

in,  28. 
"  Sprite  of  the  Silver  Shower,  The," 

139. 

Stage,  tricks  of  the,  65  ;  complaints  of 
degeneracy  of,  106;  ethics  of, 
199-203  ;  nature  on,  453,  454. 

Stage-coach  traveling  in  1846,  84-88. 

Stage  direction,  importance  of  a,  187. 

Stage  fright,  48,  137,  138. 

Stage-management,  thorough  prepa- 
ration in,  431. 

Stage-manager,  duties  as  to  rehearsal, 

433- 

Stanfield,  Clarkson,  marine  picture  by, 
at  Garrick  Club,  362. 

Stanley,  George,  prompter  at  Mobile 
Theater,  147. 

Stanley,  Pudding,  58-65  ;  as  Richard 
III,  62-65  >  his  career,  62,  63. 

Star,  in  search  of  a  manager,  135  ; 
advertising  a,  136;  a  war,  defined, 
322. 

Star  and  Garter,  Richmond,  a  memor- 
able lunch  at,  360,  361. 

Star  chamber,  a  theatrical,  97-99. 

Starring,  my  first  thoughts  of,  222, 
223. 

Starring  system  attributable  to  Shak- 
spere,  220. 

"  Star-Spangled  Banner,  The,"  given 
under  difficulties,  48. 

Stevens,  Sara,  in  "  Our  American 
Cousin,"  197;  as  Bertha,  208; 
beauty,  209. 

Stiff  piece  of  humanity,  a,  297. 

Stimulus,  a  noble,  450;  public  ap- 
proval, a  great,  453. 

Stock  companies,  character  of  Aus- 
tralian, 237;  contrasted  with  com- 
binations, 326,  327. 

Stock  company,  my  first,  3,  4. 

Stock  theater,  qualities  of  successful 
manager  of,  131,  132. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  meeting  with, 
452>  453  >  comments  on  resem- 
blance between  Rip  Van  Winkle 
and  King  Lear,  452,  453. 

Stranger,  7"he,  A.  H.  Davenport  as, 
208. 

Stuart,  William,  engage  with  at  Win- 
ter Garden,  207;  difference  with, 
211-213. 


INDEX 


499 


Success,    ephemeral     and    legitimate 

contrasted,  460,  461 ;  the  foun(" 

tion  of,  462. 
Suggestion  compared  with  vaguene 

435,  436. 
Sunrise,  The,  sail  from  Liverpool 

New  York  on,  321. 
Super,  beginning  as  a,  451,  452. 
Superstition,  252,  253,  255,  333. 
Supper  time,  the  actor's  golden  ho 

341- 

Swordsmanship,  James  W.  Walla 
Jr.'s,  superb,  81. 

Sydney,  N.S.W.,  sail  from  San  Fn 
cisco  for,  231;  beauties  of  the  h 
bor  and  city,  233;  character 
company  in,  237;  introduction 
company,  238 ;  first  appearance 
238 ;  success,  238 ;  leave  for  M 
bourne,  239;  from  New  Zeala 
10,272;  meet  Father  O'Grady 
273;  to  Melbourne  from,  273. 

Sydney  Heads,  terrors  of,  232. 

Syracuse,  playing  in,  18. 

Tableau,  arranging  a,  190-192;  a 

ligious,  289-291. 

Tackleton,  T.  B.  Johnson  as,  208. 
Talebearing,  97,  98. 
Talent,   confounded    with    wardro 

389 ;  compared  with  genius,  432 
Tasmania,  from   Melbourne  to,  25 

convict  element  in,  259-261. 
Taylor,  Tom,  author  of  "  Our  Ame 

can  Cousin,"  193,  196. 
Tea,  the  beverage  of  the  Australian 

bush,  250. 

Telegram,  my  first,  in,  112. 
Temperance  lecturer   compared  with 

actor,  455. 

Temperance  play,  a,  454. 
Temptation,  a  terrible,  248,  254,  255. 
Tennessee,  traveling  through,  45.    ' 
Texan  s,  refining   depraved  tastes   of, 

59- 

Text  of  play,  on  altering,  201. 

Thames  River,  360. 

Theater,  lighting  a,  fifty  years  ago,  29 
an  improvised,  56 ;   a  floating,  62 
discipline  of  a,  198-200;  attraction 
for  actors,  78,  237;  daylight  effects 
on  cathedral  and,  compared,  284!; 
playing  to  different  classes  in,  385  ; 
compared  with  art  gallery,  429. 

Theater  Royal,  Dublin,  "Antigone 
at,  102  ;  Tyrone  Power  at,  221. 

Theater  Royal,  Glasgow,   appear   a 
372;  its  modest  manager,  372. 

Theater    Royal,     London,     Edmun 
Kean's  trials  at,  449,  450. 


Theaters,  infants  in,  28;  large  and 
small  contrasted,  383,  384;  in- 
crease of,  and  improvement  in,  427. 

Theatre  Francais,  Paris,  criticism  of 
acting  at,  352-355;  "L'Ami 
Fritz  "  at,  353 ;  comedies  of  Mo- 
liere  at,  354. 

Theatrical  profession,  progressive  na- 
ture of,  328. 

Thompson,  Lysander,  at  Palmo's  The- 
ater, 107. 

"  Ticket-of-Leave  Man,  The,"  at  Ho- 
bart  Town,  259-261. 

Tillie  Slowboy,  Mrs.  John  Wood  as, 
208. 

Timour  the  Tartar,  a  daunted,  122. 

Titus,  Master,  14. 

Tony  Lumpkin,  wisdom  of,  52. 

Toots,  Mr.,  Oliver  Raymond  as,  437. 

Tragedian,  advantage  over  comedian, 
220;  compared  with  savage,  266, 
267;  a  Chinese,  270,  271. 

Tragedy,  compared  with  comedy,  220, 
429 ;  criticizing,  429. 

Training,  natural  talent  aided  by,  448, 

449- 

Treasure,  hidden,  466. 
Tree,  Ellen,  261,  262. 
Trip,].  B.  Howe  as,  151. 
"Trip    to    Scarborough,  A,"    altered 

from  "  The  Relapse,"  402,  403. 
Trollope,  Anthony,  314. 
Trollope,  Mrs., opinion  of  Mrs.  Drake, 

416. 

Tropics,  discomforts  of  the,  297. 
Trumbull,  John,  190. 
Turner,  J.    M.    W.,  early  and  later 

works  estimated,  358. 
Twain,  Mark,  author  of  "  The  Gilded 

Age,"  421. 
"  Twelfth  Night  "  at  Palmo's  Theater, 

107,  108. 

United  States,  first  dramatic  challenge 
to  England,  165  ;  hissing  rare  in, 
218;  religious  tone  of,  contrasted 
with  that  of  Bavaria,  291 ;  reception 
of  English  actors  in,  344,  345  ;  con- 
trasted with  France,  352. 

"  Used  Up,"  produced  in  Savannah, 
136-138. 

Utica,  playing  in,  18. 

Vagueness,  compared  with  suggestion, 
435,  436;  illustration  from  "The 
Critic,"  435,  436. 

Valrie,  M.,  French  consul  at  Callao, 
280,  281 ;  meeting  with,  on  voyage 
from  Callao  to  Panama,  293; 
broken  English,  294;  domestic 


500  INDEX 

happiness,  294 ;  fondness  for  drama  Warner,  Mrs.,  compared  with  Char- 

and  opera,  294 ;  as  a  whist-player,  "lotte  Cushman,  414;  criticism  on 

295.  Macready,  442-444;  in  "Werner," 

Vanbrugh,  Sir  John,  author  of  "  The  442-444. 

Relapse,"  402,  403.  Warren,  General,  sufferings  of,  191, 

Vanderfelt,  Edwin  H.,  as  Marcellus,  192. 

422.  Warren,  Harry,  theatrical  manager  in 

Van  Diemen's  Land,  from  Melbourne  Buffalo,  392. 

to,  259 ;  convict  element  in,  259-  Warren,  Mary  Anne,  married  to  John 

261.  B.  Rice,  392. 

Van  Dunder,  W.  E.  Burton  as,  100.  Warren,    Sarah,     my    marriage    to, 

Vanity,  1 16,  226,  308,  309.  323. 

Vedder,  Nicholas,  458.  Warren,  William,  introduces  Artemus 

Verey's,  London,  family  reunion  at,  Ward,  320 ;  friendship  with  Fech- 

312.  '      ter,  340, 341;  rescues  Fechter's  cup 

Versatility,  lack   of,   389;    of  actors,  from  the  crucible,  343,  344;  criti- 

146.  cism   on   my  changes    in    "The 

Vert,  Mme.,  348-351.  Rivals,"  402;  prominence  in  Bos- 

Vestris,  Mme.,  205.  ton,   403,    404;    versatility,   403; 

Vicksburg,  Miss.,  drumming  in,  52  ;  character,  talents,  and  career,  403- 

Havana  cigars  made  in,  52.  409;    fiftieth   anniversary    of   his 

Viola,  Lizzie  Weston  as,  107.  debut,  403-408;  as  a  star,  404; 

Virginia  Water,  Queen's  yacht  on,  310.  connection  with  the  Boston  Mu- 

Virginius,  Edwin  Forrest  as,  157.  seum,    404,    405;    early  recollec- 
tions   of,      405,     406;     personal 

Walcott,  Charles,  287.  appearance,    405  ;    as    Rashlcigh 

Wallace,  Buck,  adventures  of,  75,  76;  Osbaldistone,  405;    as  Beauseant, 

wife  and  child  murdered  by  Co-  405 ;      retirement   of,     406,    408, 

manches,  75 ;    murdered,  76,  77 ;  409 ;  at  a  memorable  feast,  407, 

opinion  of  Cooper's  novels,  76.  408 ;  last  days,  death,  and  burial, 

Wallack,  James,  Sr.,  in  Mobile,  40;  409. 

character,  40 ;  in  "The  Brigand,"  War  star  defined,  322. 

40,  41 ;    succeeds    Brougham    at  Washington,  D.  C.,  early  recollections 

the  Lyceum,  315;  in  the  Bulfinch  of,  i;  T.  D.  Rice  in,  6;  Killmist's 

Place  kitchen,  407.  theater  burned,  100;  with  Ford's 

Wallack,  James  W.,  Jr.,  personal  ap-  company  at,  160;  open  with  "  Rip 

pearance  and   acting    of,    79-81;  Van    Winkle"  at   Carusi's    Hall, 

swordsmanship,  81 ;    as  Duke  of  227-229. 

Gloucester,     79-81 ;     influence    of  Watches,  purchasing,  for  self  and  wife, 

Macready's    style    upon,    80;    in  149;  value  of  mine,  149. 

"Antigone,"  104;  as  Joseph  Sur-  Webster,  Benjamin,   engagement   for 

face,  151.  "Rip   Van  Winkle"   with,    302; 

Wallack,  Lester,  cousin  of  James  W.  feud  with  Boucicault,  303, 305-308; 

Wallack,  Jr.,  79,  note;  as  Sir  An-  temper,  305-308. 

drew  Aguecheek,  107;  testimonial  Werner,  Macready  as,  42,  442-444. 

at  Metropolitan  Opera  House, 42 1,  West,  power  of  recovering  lost  posi- 

422.  tion  in  the,  251,  252. 

Wallack,  Mrs.  James  W.,  Jr.,  as  Queen  Weston,    Lizzie,   as    Viola,    107;    as 

Elizabeth,  79,80;  her  acting,  80;  Lady  Teazle,  151. 

compared  with  Charlotte  Cushman,  Wheatley  &  Drew,  managers  of  Arch 

80;  in  "  Antigone,"  104.  Street  Theater,  149,  150. 

Wall  Street,  in  panic  of  1857,  188.  Wheeling,   W.    Va.,  coach   office   at, 

War,  effect  upon  theatrical  finances,  84. 

80.  Wheelock,    Joseph,    as    First  Actor, 

Ward,  Artemus, in  London, 320;  char-  422. 

acter  and  humor,  320,  321 ;  death,  Whist,  a  queer  idea  of,  295. 

320,321;  attachment  for  Tom  Rob-  White,  Col.,  417. 

ertson,320,32i.  White,  Mrs.  417. 

Wardrobe,   confounded  with  talent,  Widow  Cheerly,  Mrs.  Drake  as,  416. 

389-  Wife,  a  loving,  364-367,  472,  473. 


INDEX 


501 


Wife's  Secret,  The,"  265. 


"  Wives  as  They  Were,  and  Maids  as 
They  Are, "at  Mobile  Theater,  147, 
148. 

"Wolfert's  Roost,"  John  T.  Ray- 
mond in,  421. 

Wood,  Mrs.  John,  as  Tillie  Slowboy, 
208 ;  beauty  of,  209. 

Wood  &  Warren,  theatrical  partner- 
ship, 115. 

Wrecked  life,  a,  251. 

Wright,  Mr.,  171. 

Yankee,  characteristics  of  a,  277-279. 

Yates,  Frederick  H.,  plays  early  ver- 
sion of  "  Rip  Van  Winkle,"  225, 
461. 
n    Young  man,  a  London  idea  of  a,  361. 

"  Young  Scamp,  The,"  in  a  Chinese 
Theater,  269 

"Zampa,"  294. 
Zekiel  Homespun,  224. 
Zoe,  214,  215. 


FORM  NO.  DD6 


YD  27188 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


